LIBRARY 

OF  THR 

University  of  California. 

Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALSWORTH. 

Received  October,  i8g4. 
Accessions  No.^/^2^.      Class  No._^_,Q_, 


^C  CM 


/ 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION: 


COMPRISING 


SUGGESTIONS  ON  THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  STUDY; 


REMARKS 


ON  THE  EFFECT  OF  MANNER  IN  SPEAKING; 

THE 

RULES    OF   READING, 


EXEMPLIFIED  FROM  THE 


SCRIPTURES,  HYMNS,  AND  SERMONS ; 
OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE; 


AND  A 


SELECTION   OF  PIECES  FOR  PRACTICE 


IN  READING  AND  SPEAKING. 


WILLIAM   RUSSELL, 

INSTRUCTOR  IW  KLOCUTION. 


rc-.. 


ANDOVER: 

PUBLISHED  BY  ALLEN,  BIORRILL  AND  WAEDWELL. 
NEW  YORK :  MARK  H.  NEWMAN. 

1846. 


3V*^. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846,  by 

William  Russell, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


PREFACE 


The  design  of  the  present  work,  is,  as  intimated  in  the  title, 
to  furnish  a  manual  of  elocution,  prepared  with  particular  refer- 
ence to  the  purposes  of  the  pulpit. 

The  author's  previous  publications, — the  American  Elocu- 
tionist, and  the  volume  on  Orthophony,  are  intended  for  general 
use,  in  all  literary  establishments  in  which  elocution  forms  a  de- 
partment of  instruction.  These  two  manuals  furnish,  it  is  thought, 
all  the  requisite  means  of  acquiring  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
principles  of  elocution, — either  in  a  practical  or  a  scientific 
form,  at  the  option  of  the  student. 

The  Orthophony  prescribes  the  elementary  discipline  by  which 
to  train  the  organs  to  vigour  and  pliancy,  and  to  mould  the  voice, 
in  adaptation  to  the  various  modes  of  expressive  utterance.  It 
furnishes  a  series  of  elementary  lessons  on  the  systematic  cultivation 
of  the  voice, — adapted  to  the  theory  and  nomenclature  of  Dr. 
Rush.  It  includes,  also,  the  methods  of  instruction,  and  the 
forms  of  exercise,  introduced  by  Mr.  J.  E.  Murdoch,  in  his  sys- 
tem of '  vocal  gymnastics,'  along  with  those  which  are  used  by 
the  author  of  the  present  volume,  in  his  modes  of  practical 
training. 

The  Elocutionist  presents,  more  particularly,  the  correct  pro- 
nunciation of  words,  and  the  application  of  the  rides  of  elocution, 
in  connection  with  rhetoric  and  prosody.  It  comprises  a  course 
of  practical  instruction  in  enunciation,  infection,  emphasis,  rhetori- 
cal pauses,  expressive  tone,  and  the  rudiments  of  gesture. 

The  general  principles  of  elocution,  however,  as  a  science, 
and  its  j)ractice,  as  an  art,  need  particular  modification,  to  ac- 
commodate them  to  the  appropriate  purposes  of  professional 


4:  PREFACE. 

culture,  for  students  of  theology.  The  style  of  voice,  adapted  to 
the  correct  and  impressive  reading  of  a  hymn,  the  Scriptures,  or 
a  sermon,  requires  special  attention  and  study,  and  a  separate 
course  of  practice.  The  delivery  of  a  discourse  from  the  pulpit, 
demands  an  appropriate  training,  distinct  from  that  of  popular 
oratory. — The  materials  and  the  suggestions  for  such  cultivation, 
the  present  volume  is  designed  to  supply. 

The  plan  on  which  the  contents  of  the  following  pages,  are 
arranged,  embraces, 

1st,  Introductory  Observations  on  the  importance  of  Elocu- 
tion, as  a  department  of  Theological  Study. 

2d,  Remarks  on  the  effect  of  Manner,  in  Voice  and  Gesture, 
as  exemplified  in  the  pulpit. 

3d,  A  brief  Summary  of  the  most  important  Principles  of 
Elocution,  with  particular  reference  to  their  exemplification  in 
the  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  hymns,  and  sermons. 

4th,  Exercises  in  these  forms  of  reading,  selected  and  arranged 
for  the  particular  application  of  rules  and  principles. 

5th,  A  brief  statement  of  the  Principles  of  Gesture. 

6th,  Miscellaneous  Extracts,  for  practice  in  Reading  and  Speak- 
ing, intended  to  be  analyzed  by  the  student,  and  classified,  in 
their  various  contents,  under  the  points  of  practical  elocution 
which  they  illustrate. 


CONTENTS 


Page. 

Preface      3 

Hints  on  the  Modes  op  Practice  in  the  Use  of  this  Volume      9 

Introductory  Observations  on  the  Study  of  Elocution  13 

The  Elocution  of  the  Pulpit.     By  the  Kev.  Dr.  Edwards  A.  Park  14 
The  Study  of  Elocution  an  important  part  of  the  Preparation  re- 
quired by  the  Public  Duties  of  the  Ministry.     By  the  Rev. 

Edward  N.  Kirk 22 

Elocution,  as  a  department  of  Preparatory  Study  in  Theology  29 

Effects  of  Manner  in  the  Elocution  of  the  Pulpit  56 

Animation  and  Dullness 56 

Earnestness  and  Apathy 60 

Force,  Feebleness 68 

Vehemence,  Violence 69 

Gentleness,  Spirit,  Tameness 70 

Boldness,  Timidity 71 

Harshness,  Amenity 72 

The  Cultivation  of  Force 73 

Modes  of  Cultivating  Force 73 

Modes  of  Subduing  Excessive  Vehemence          ...  74 

Freedom,  Constraint,  Reserve 75 

Variety,  Monotony 80 

Mannerism,  Adaptation,  Appropriateness        ....  82 

Individuality  of  Manner 89 

Dignity,  Familiarity 92 

Formality,  Primness,  Rigidity 96 

Propriety  of  Manner 1 01 

Warmth  of  Manner 104 

Serenity  of  Manner 109 

True  and  Natural  Manner 112 

Refinement  and  Gracefulness 116 

False  Taste,  Artificial  Style 118 

Adaptation  of  Manner  to  the  Different  Parts  of  a  Discourse  119 

Manner  in  Devotion 121 

Principles  of  Elocution             125 

The  Cultivation  of  the  Voice  :  its  Capability         .        .        .  125 
1* 


6  CONTENTS. 

Neglect  of  Vocal  Culture 129 

Kemedies  for  Defective  Culture     .        .        .      •  .        .        .  130 

Effects  of  Due  Cultivation 132 

on  the  '  Quality'  of  the  Voice 134 

"      Articulation I35 

"      Force  and '  Stress' 136 

"      Pitch 137 

"       'Inflection' 141 

"      'Movement' I43 

"      '  Rhythm'  and  Pausing 146 

"      Emphasis 146 

"      '  Expression'  ,         .  149 

Elementary  Exercises  for  the  Voice      ....  153 

Articulation I53 

The  Fundamental  Sounds  of  the  English  Language  .        .  153 

Combinations .  154 

Exercises  in '  Quality'  156 

'Pure  Tone' 156 

Pathos 157 

Repose,  Placid  Emotion 158 

Solemnity 160 

'  Orotund  Quality' 160 

Pathos  and  Sublimity 161 

Repose,  Solemnity,  and  Sublimity  .         .         .         .  162 

Solemnity,  Sublimity,  and  Pathos 162 

Energy  and  Sublimity 163 

Joy  and  Sublimity 165 

Awe  and  Sublimity 166 

FJxERCiSES  IN  Force 167 

Suppressed  Force 168 

Subdued  Force 168 

Moderate  Force 169 

Declamatory  Force 171 

Impassioned  Force 172 

Shouting 173 

Calling 174 

Exercises  in  '  Stress' 174 

Impassioned '  Radical  Stress' 176 

Unimpassioned  '  Radical  Stress' 177 

'Median  Stress' 177 

'  Vanishing  Stress' 178 

'  Compound  Stress' 1 79 

'  Thorough  Stress'  .         . 180 

Exercises  in  Pitch 181 

Middle  Pitch         . 181 


CONTENTS.  7 

Low  Pitch 183 

Lowest  Pitch 187 

High  Pitch 189 

Exercises  in  Inflection 192 

Impassioned  Inflection 192 

Vivid  or  Earnest  Inflection 194 

Moderate  Inflection 197 

Slight  Inflection 199 

•Monotone' 200 

Exercises  in  'Movement' 201 

'  Slowest  Movement' 202 

'  Slow  Movement' 204 

'  Moderate  Movement'            212 

'  LiA^ely  Movement' 218 

Exercises  in  '  Khtthm' 225 

Verse,  or  Metrical  Accent 227 

Prose  'Rhythm' 228 

Exercises  in  Emphasis 231 

Impassioned  Emphasis 232 

Unimpassioned  Emphasis 232 

Exercises  in  '  Expression'            232 

Awe 233 

Awe  and  Fear 234 

Awe,  Solemnity,  and  Tranquillity 234 

Solemnity  and  Reverence 235 

Praise 236 

Deep  and  uncontrolled  Grief 238 

Deep  and  subdued  Grief 239 

Indignation 241 

Denunciation 243 

Tenderness            244 

Penitence  and  Contrition 247 

Regret,  Repentance,  and  Shame 248 

Remorse,  Self-reproach,  Horror,  and  Despair         .        .        .  249 

Joy 251 

Happiness 253 

Composure,  Serenity,  and  Complacency        ....  257 

Exercises  in  '  Variation' 261 

'Invocation  of  Light.' — Milton 262 

'  Soliloquy  of  Satan.' — Milton 264 

'  The  Enterprise  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  New  England. '-.E.-EJ?;ere«.  271 

Reading  of  the  Scriptures 277 

Narrative  Passages 281 

Examples  in  Familiar  Style 282 

Examples  in '  Middle'  Style 283 


o  CONTENTS. 

Examples  in  Elevated  Style 285 

Didactic  Passages 288 

Examples  in  Oral  and  Parabolic  Style  ....  289 

Examples  from  the  Epistles 291 

Passages  from  the  Prophetic  Writings    •        ...        .        .  292 

Lyric  Passages 295 

The  Reading  op  Hymns 296 

Examples  of  Solemnity  and  Awe 303 

"  Grandeur,  Majesty,  and  Power  .        .         .  304 

"  Repose,  Tranquillity,  and  Serenity  .        .  308 

"  Joy,  Praise,  and  Triumph         .         .        .        .  310 

"  Pathos,  Entreaty,  and  Supplication  .        .  319 

"  "Varied '  Expression' 323 

"  Didactic  Sentiment 328 

The  Principles  of  Gesture 332 

The  Attitude  of  the  Body,  required  for  Public  Speaking        .  340 

The  Character  of  Oratorical  Action 344 

Miscellaneous  Exercises  in  Reading  and  Speaking      .  353 

English  Oratory Addison.  353 

Pulpit  Eloquence  of  England         .        .        .        Sydney  Smith.  355 

Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit         .        .        .       John  Quincy  Adams.  ■  358 

The  Fatal  Falsehood Mrs.  Opie.  359 

Musings  on  the  Grave   ....  Washington  Irving.  362 

The  Grave  James  Montgomery.  363 

The  Galilean  Church,  at  the  Period  of  the  Revolution         Croly.  365 

Night  James  Montgomery.  367 

ThcLandofBculah G.  B.  Cheever.  368 

Life's  Companions  ....  Charles  Mackay.  371 

Henry  Martyn Macaxday.  373 

'  Ora  atque  Labora !' Albeit  Pike.  379 

The  Field  of  Battle Bobert  Hall.  380 

'  Not  on  the  Battle  Field.'       ....        John  Piei-pont.  382 

Religious  Principle  the  Vital  Element  of  Poetry  Carlyle.  384 

Emblems .          James  Montgomery.  387 

Parson  Thacher's  Day  .         .         .       Columbian  Magazine.  389 

The  Sun's  Eclipse  (July  8,  1842)    .         .         .        Horace  Smith.  395 

The  Moravians  at  Hemhut     . 

On  a  Survey  of  the  Heavens,  before  Daybreak. 

The  Crowded  Street      .... 

Robert  Hall  .         .         .         .         . 

The  Millennium  Era      .... 


William  Homtt.  397 

H.  K.  White.  402 

W.  C.  Bryant.  404 

.    Anon.  405 

S.  T.  Coleridge.  407 


HINTS 

ON  MODES   OP  PERSONAL  PRACTICE,, 

IN  THE  USE  OF  THIS  VOLUME. 


Individuals  who  have  not  convenient  access  to  instruction,  and  are* 
desirous  of  prosecuting  the  study  and  practice  of  elocution,  as  a  matter- 
of  self-cultivation,  may  be  aided  by  the  following  suggestions. 

1.  The  preliminary  condition  to  success  in  the  cultivation  of  any 
branch  of  practical  oratory,  is  a  healthy  condition  of  the  bodily  frame.  El- 
ocution, as  the  exterior  part  of  eloquence,  is  altogether  dependent  on  the 
vigour  and  flexibility  of  the  muscular  system.  Flaccid,  rigid,  and  clum- 
sy muscles  render  expression  by  voice  and  action  impracticable.  Mus- 
cular energy  and  pliancy  demand  habits  of  free  exposure  to  the  open 
air,  and  the  vigorous  use  of  the  arms  and  limbs,  in  daily  exertions  of 
adequate  force. 

No  man  can  be  eifectively  eloquent  without  energy ;  and  the  attaining 
of  energy  is,  to  the  student  and  the  sedentary  man,  a  thing  comparative- 
ly arduous.  Several  hours — not  one,  merely, — of  every  day,  ai'c  due  to 
the  renovation  of  the  body ;  and  the  student  who  tries  to  evade  this  con- 
dition, although  he  may  do  well,  apparently,  for  a  few  years,  usually 
sinks  into  debility,  or  contracts  a  decided — perhaps  a  fatal — bronchial 
affection.  The  sedentary  man  who  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  public  speak- 
er, needs  a  double  allowance  of  air  and  exercise,  to  counteract  the  inju- 
rious tendency  of  the  union  of  two  modes  of  life,  naturally  incompati- 
ble. The  nervous  excitation,  and  the  cerebral  exhilaration,  arising  from 
continued  intellectual  action, — by  the  deceptive  inspiration  which  they 
impart, — often  lead  the  student  to  slight  physical  exercise,  as  a  thing 
unnecessary.  A  few  years, — sometimes  even  a  few  months, — are  suffi- 
cient to  undeceive  the  individual,  and  disclose  all  the  accumulation  of 
unsuspected  injury  to  which  he  had  been  subjecting  himself  The  stu- 
dent is  ever  prone  to  forget  that  the  body  is  a  machine  designed  for  ac- 
tion, and  one  which  he  is  bound  to  keep  in  use,  and  so  to  keep  in  re- 
pair,— under  a  penalty  not  less  severe  than  is  attached  to  a  desecration. 
The  statistics  of  elocution,  however,  if  faithfully  recorded,  would  not 
show  a  result,  usually,  of  one  sound  voice  in  ten,  among  young  men 
who  are  addicted  to  sedentary  and  studious  habits. 

An  individual  who  wishes  to  acquire  or  retain  the  power  of  speaking 
or  reading  with  true  effect,  must,  in  the  first  instance,  be  wilMng  to  as- 
sign a  considerable  portion  of  every  day  to  invigorating  exercise  and 
exposure. 

2.  It  is,  farther,  an  indispensable  prerequisite  to  effective  elocixtion 
that  the  student  accustom  himself  to  activity^  as  a  habit  both  of  body  and 
mind.    Expression,  in  elocutionary  forms,  is  action  :  it  is  a  thing  utterly 


10  HINTS  ON  MODES  OF  PRACTICE. 

incompatible  with  listlessness,  indolence,  or  languor.  Eloquence, — of 
which  elocution  is  but  the  audible  and  visible  part, — implies  a  tendency 
to  perccptilile  effect.  '  Wisdom''  may  be  '  the  repose  of  minds.'  But  elo- 
quence is  not.  The  true  orator  has  always  defined  eloquience  as  action. 
Eloquence  is  not — in  its  eifective  form, — ^the  placid  lake,  whose  charm  is 
its  serenity.  It  is  the  river '  moving  in  majesty,'  or  sweeping  to  its  des- 
tination, and  carrying  Avith  it  whatever  it  encounters  in  its  course. 

The  eloquence  of  calm  thought  and  mild  persuasion,  has  doubtless 
its  time  and  place.  But  even  this  demands  its  appropriate  utterance 
and  action.  Deprived  of  these  it  will  lose  its  power.  The  discipline  to 
which  the  student,  as  a  scholar,  so  long  subjects  himself, — the  passive 
and  receptive  state  of  mind  to  which  he  is  habituated, — entail  a  tenden- 
cy to  inaction,  as  regards  manifestation  and  expression.  When  he  as- 
sumes, therefore,  the  duties  of  a  ])rofession  which  devolves  on  him,  in 
frequent  recurrence,  the  act  of  public  speaking,  he  is  usually  unprepar- 
ed for  this  altogether  new  career,  in  which  his  success  depends  not  on  his 
power  of  reception  or  acquisition,  but  of  impartation  and  utterance. 
He  must  undergo  a  change  of  habit,  as  regards  both  mental  and  bodily 
exertion,  to  render  him  capable  of  accomplishing  the  purj^oses  of  active 
life  and  professional  duty.  He  miist  become  habituated  to  the  glow  of 
action,  and  the  impulse  of  feeling :  he  must  learn  to  cherish  the  inspira- 
tion of  ardour  and  positive  exertion,  and  to  relish  the  pleasure  of  im- 
pelling other  minds, — of  compassing  an  object  and  carrying  a  point. 
His  speech  must  become  fraught  with  the  spirit  of  eloquence,  in  the 
earnestness  of  its  tones,  and  the  energy  of  its  accompanying  action ; 
that  he  may  possess  the  power  of  moving  his  hearers  and  earning  them 
with  him.  Such  exertion  will  oflen  demand  all  the  spirit  and  enthusiasm 
of  heroic  enterprise. 

The  student  of  elocution,  then,  must  bring  to  his  practice  a  stirring 
ambition  that  shall  not  suffer  him  to  subside  into  languor  and  indolence, 
or  irresolution  and  inaction.  His  daily  physical  exercise  must  be  car- 
ried to  such  extent  as  to  yield  the  natural  and  healthful  pleasure  of  ex- 
ertion, and  to  create  an  earnest  desire  for  it,  and  an  habitual  tendency 
towards  it, 

3.  But  the  successfid  practice  of  elocution  demands  more  than  mere- 
ly high-toned  health  and  habitual  activity.  Expression  by  voice  and 
action  requires  that  natural  resiilt  of  healthful  hal)it,  which  we  designate, 
in  popular  language,  by  the  phrase  '  high  animal  spirits.'  This  is  one 
of  Nature's  laws  of  exipression.  The  individual  in  private  society,  not 
less  than  the  public  speaker,  needs  animation^  as  a  condition  of  oral  com- 
munication. The  child,  under  the  inspiration  of  vivid  emotion,  becomes 
an  eloquent  monitor  to  the  man,  as  regards  the  impartation  of  feeling. 
The  student  of  elocution,  to  be  successful  in  his  endeavours,  needs  all  the 
aids  arising  from  the  inspiring  influences  of  health  and  activity  and  ani- 
mation. It  is  from  the  superaliundant  life  of  his  oAvn  heart  that  he  is  to 
impel  and  inspire  the  feelings  of  others.  Expression,  in  its  best  fonns, 
is  often  something  stnxck  out  in  the  glow  of  emotion.  The  most  elo- 
quent tones  of  the  human  voice,  and  the  most  impressive  forms  of  atti- 
tude and  action,  are  those  which  spring  from  the  most  vivid  state  of  the 
soul,  under  a  powerful  inspiration. 

4.  A  high  tone  of  the  animal  spirits,  and  a  quick  sensibility  of  heart 
need,  however,  the  associated  aid  of  a  plastic,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
a  powerfvlhf  active  imacjination.  Poetry  is  not  such  to  the  man  who  re- 
ceives it  into  a  hard  or  a  dormant  fancy.    To  such  an  individual,  its  no- 


HINTS  ON  MODES  OF  PRACTICE,  11 

blest  workings  are  but  so  many  forms  of  falsehood.  Let  him  attempt  to 
give  it  voice,  and  his  dry  inexpressive  tone  reveals  the  fact  that  it 
has  no  power  over  his  being.  The  liighest  expressive  action  of  the 
human  mind,  is  that  in  which  eloquence,  in  its  sublime  inspiration, 
passes  into  the  form  of  poetrj^  The  art  of  elocution  recognizes  this 
fact,  and  presents  to  the  student,  as  the  noblest  of  all  its  exercises,  the 
fitting  recitation  of  sentiment  imbodied  in  verse,  or  in  those  forms  of 
prose  which  bespeak  the  presence  of  the  spirit,  if  not  the  letter,  of 
poetry. 

To  do  justice  to  such  strains,  the  student  must  bring  to  his  work  the 
utmost  pliancy  and  glowing  activity  of  imagination,  to  enable  him  to 
take  on  and  give  oif,  with  con-espondcnt  cflect,  the  '  thick-coming  fan- 
cies' of  the  poet.  He  must  possess  the  j)ower  of  assimilating  his  own 
mood  of  mind  to  that  of  the  creative  artist  under  whose  inspiration  he 
is  working.  Every  central  point  of  thought  must  be  thrown  out,  in  tone 
and  action,  in  a  style  which  clusters  round  it  the  whole  investing  im- 
agery of  the  poet's  soul  and  the  speaker's  heart.  Poetic  utterance  re- 
quires that  imagination  should  people  the  world  of  feeling,  not  less  than 
that  feeling  should  animate  and  awaken  the  world  of  fancy.  Elo- 
quence, when  it  is  tmly  such,  partakes  largely  of  the  character  of  poetry : 
the  most  eloquent  passage  of  writing  is  that  which  is  essentially  the 
most  poetical. 

The  student  of  elocution,  then,  if  he  woidd  be  successful  in  his  art, 
must  cherish  Avhatever  tends  to  impart  life  and  power  to  the  imaginative 
faculty.  Nature  and  art,  and  poetry,  in  particular,  are  the  great  schools 
of  imagination.  But  no  influence  is  more  immediate,  in  this  respect, 
than  the  attentive  practice  of  elocution  itself.  A  true  poetic  recitation 
breathes  into  the  soul,  at  once,  the  conception  of  the  poet,  the  music  of 
his  verse,  and  the  charm  of  a  harmonized  living  voice,  to  which  the 
heart  strings  are  fonned  to  thrill. 

5.  The  effects  resulting  from  the  practice  of  elocution,  are  equally  fa- 
vourable, as  regards  the  best  influence  on  the  health  and  vigour  and  activity  of 
the  organic  frame^  and  on  the  halntual  tone  of  feeling.  The  erect  and  ex- 
pansive attitude  of  body,  and  the  free  and  forcible  action  of  all  its  parts, 
in  the  full  expression  of  posture,  motion,  and  gesture,  tend  to  impart 
vigour  and  pliancy,  not  less  than  freedom  and  grace  ;  while  the  unembar- 
rassed and  active  play  of  heart  and  lungs  conveys  fresh  life  and  power  to 
all  parts  of  the  system,  from  the  energy  imparted  to  the  muscles  of  the 
chest  and  throat.  A  highly  animated  condition  of  the  whole  interior  of 
the  bodily  frame,  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  vivid  and  genial 
emotions  which  inspiring  sentiment  and  impressive  utterance  produce. 

6.  The  various  modes  of  exercise,  in  detail,  which  are  most  conducive 
to  healthful  vigour  and  organic  energy,  may  be  found  described  in  the 
volume  on  Orthophony,  which  is  more  immediately  occupied  with  this 
branch  of  elocutionary  training.  The  student,  when  he  has  rendered 
himself  expert  in  these,  or  others  of  a  similar  description,  may,  with  ad- 
vantage, proceed  in  the  course  of  cultivation,  as  developed  in  that  work, 
and  in  the  American  Elocutionist.  To  the  study  of  these  volumes,  the 
exercises  commencing  at  the  125th  page  of  the  present  work,  will  form 
a  useful  sequel.  Students  who  have  not  convenient  access  to  the  works 
now  mentioned,  will,  it  is  thought,  find,  in  the  exercises  presented  in  the 
following  pages,  a  course  of  practice  sufficient  for  immediate  purposes. 

7.  The  practice  of  the  elementary  exercises,  should  be  persevered  in, 
till  every  point,  successively,  is  mastered,  and  the  results  of  cultivation 


12  HINTS  ON  MODES  OF  PRACTICE. 

are  fully  obtained  in  a  perfectly  pure^  clear,  round,  and  full  Tone  of  voice; 
a  perfectly  distinct  and  well-marked,  but  fluent  Enunciation ;  the  power  of  giv- 
ing forth,  at  pleasure,  any  degree  of  Force,  from  whispering  to  shouting  and 
calling;  every  species  of''  Stress;^  the  ability  to  exemplify  any  Pitch  of  voice, 
from  the  lowest  to  the  fughest ;  a  perfect  command  of  '  Infections,^  in  all  their 
forms;  an  entire  control  over '■  Movement,^  from  the  slowest  to  the  lively  rate; 
an  exact  observance  of  Time  and  '  BJiythm ;'  every  degree  of  effect  in  JEm- 
j)hasis,from  the  most  delicate  to  the  l>oldest;  a  perfect  mastery  of '■  Expression,^ 
in  all  its  moods,  and  of  '  Variation,^  throuqh  ml  its  modif  cations. 

8.  A  separate  course  of  practice,  in  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  and  of 
hymns,  should,  after  the  previous  training,  be  pursued,  with  the  aid  of 
close  analysis  and  frequent  repetition,  as  exemplified  in  the  following 
pages. 

9.  The  '  miscellaneous  exercises'  should  all  be  thoroughly  analyzed,  previous 
to  practising  them,  and  the  style  of  reading  penciled,  if  necessaiy,  on 
the  margin,  opposite  to  every  passage  which  needs  more  than  usual  at- 
tention to  '  expression'  and  variation. 

10.  The  next  step  in  the  student's  progress,  should  be  the  reading  of 
passages  selected  from  various  authors,  and  exemplifying  all  the  varieties 
of  style  in  narrative,  descriptive,  didactic,  and  oratorical  composition  in 
prose,  and  of  epic,  lyric,  and  dramatic  poetry. 

11.  The  next  step  in  preparatory  training  should  be  the  reading  of  ser- 
mons, with  strict  regard  to  the  due  loudness  and  slowness  of  voice  re- 
quired in  public  reading ; — with  a  watchful  attention  to  inflection,  empha- 
sis, and  pauses,  as  the  vehicles  of  distinctive  thought ;  and  to  '  expres- 
sion' and  '  variation'  as  the  means  of  effect  in  sentiment  and  emotion. 
The  best  security  for  due  closeness  of  attention  to  particulars,  is  the  pre- 
paratory use  of  the  pencil  in  marking,  on  the  margin  and  between  the 
lines,  every  important  point  in  the  management  of  the  voice. 

12.  The  student  should  now  adopt  the  practice  of  reading  matter  of  his 
own  composition,  in  the  form  of  essays,  lectures,  and  sermons. 

13.  As  a  preparation  for  applying  the  principles  of  Gesture,  passages 
from  the  '  elementary'  and  the  '  miscellaneous  exercises,'  may  be 
committed  to  memory,  and  practised  in  the  forms  of  declamation  and 
recitation. 

14.  The  next  step,  in  preparatory  practice,  should  consist  in  speaking 
on  given  subjects,  after  close  and  thorough  premeditation,  so  as  to  develope  a 
train  of  thought  in  well-digested  forms,  leaving  the  language  and  ex- 
pression, in  their  details,  to  the  suggestion  of  the  moment. 

15.  The  last  stage  of  elocutionary  practice,  may  be  left  to  exercises  in 
strictly  extemporaneous  speaking,  in  the  fonn  of  discourses  pronounced  on 
texts  selected  ad  aperturam  libri,  as  a  preparation  for  the  customary  re- 
marks on  passages  of  Scripture,  at  prayer-meetings.  When  students 
can  conveniently  meet,  in  classes,  the  practice  of  extemporaneous  discussion 
and  debate,  may  be  advantageously  adopted,  as  a  means  of  cultivating 
propriety  and  fluency  in  elocution. 


INTRODUCTORY  OBSERVATIONS. 


ON  THE 


STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION. 


Students  of  theology  are  not  always  aware  of  the  im- 
mense importance  of  a  perfect  command  of  voice,  and  of  aa 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  rules  and  principles  of  elocution, 
as  the  only  rational  means  to  that  end.  A  teacher  in  this 
branch  of  education,  therefore,  has  often  to  consume  much 
time  in  soliciting  attention  to  his  subject ;  and  his  arguments 
are  not  unfrequently  regarded  as  the  pleading  of  one  whose 
personal  interests  are  at  stake  in  the  question. 

The  author  of  the  following  treatise,  labours,  in  common 
with  other  instructors  in  his  department,  under  this  disadvan- 
tage, and  has  found  it  useful  to  appeal,  on  this  ground,  to  the 
testimony  of  individuals  already  engaged  in  the  duties  of  the 
sacred  profession.  He  was  desirous,  therefore,  previous  to 
commencing  the  task  of  compiling  this  volume,  to  obtain, — 
from  those  whose  professional  position  and  opportunities- 
might  give  sanction  to  their  opinions, — their  views  on  the 
advantages  of  specific  study  and  practice  in  elocution,  as  a 
part  of  professional  training  for  the  services  of  the  pulpit. 

Several  clergymen  to  whom  the  author  made  application,, 
on  this  subject,  expressed  a  warm  interest  in  the  object  in 
view,  and  their  readiness  to  render  it  their  personal  aid.  The 
urgency  of  professional  duties,  however,  in  some  instances^ 
and  unforeseen  hinderances,  in  others,  have  prevented  the 
2 


14  PtTLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

fulfilment  qf  their  wishes.*  The  author  takes  peculiar  plea- 
sure in  acknowledging  the  effectual  aid  which,  in  the  follow- 
ing instances,  has  been  so  liberally  afforded  to  his  undertak- 
ing. The  sentiments  of  such  individuals,  will  carry  their 
own  commendation  to  every  mind  ;  and  in  contributing  them 
to  the  objects  of  this  volume,  the  compiler  feels  assured  that 
their  authors  have  rendered  an  invaluable  service  to  the  pur- 
poses of  the  profession  which  they  sustain. 


THE  ELOCUTION  OE  THE  PULPIT. 

[Contributed  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Edwards  A.  Park,  Bartlet  Professor  of 
Sacred  Rhetoric,  in  Andover  Theological  Seminary.] 

The  Author  of  our  being  has  made  the  various  organs  of 
the  body  expressive  of  thought  and  emotion.  The  eye,  the 
cheek,  the  lip,  the  hand,  the  foot,  the  attitude  of  the  limbs 
and  chest  and  head,  may  all  show  forth  a  sentiment  of  the 
soul.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  the  choicest  selection  of  words 
will  sometimes  fail  to. exhibit  a  certain  cast  of  thought,  which 
may  be  indicated  at  once  by  the  natural  signs  consisting  in 
certain  movements  and  appearances  of  the  physical  organs.* 
In  the  person  of  Garrick,  a  mere  position  of  the  elbow  or 
the  knee,  yea,  a  particular  adjustment  of  the  hair,  has  vivid- 
ly portrayed  a  state  of  mind  which  artificial  language  is  too 
inflexible  to  express. 

"Written  words,  even  when  they  embody  the  general  idea, 
the  substantial  meaning,  are  often  unable  to  exhibit  those 
evanescent  shades  of  sentiment  w^hich  are  clearly  expressed 
by  tones  and  gestures.     The  inflection  with  which  a  word  is 

*  The  late  Rev.  Dr.  Nettleton  expressed  his  earnest  desire,  in  case  of 
the  restoration  of  his  health,  to  give  his  express  testimony  on  this  sub- 
ject ;  and,  among  the  students  attending  the  Theological  Institute  at 
East  Windsor,  during  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  several  will  recollect 
how  eloquently  he  urged  this  matter  on  their  attention,  in  the  counsels 
which  he  gave  them,  when  he  was  lying  disabled  by  the  disease  which 
terminated  his  life. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  15 

uttered,  conveys  sometimes  a  delicate  thought,  which  the  word 
itself  does  not  even  intimate.  Now  this  natural  expressive- 
ness of  the  human  frame  is  an  essential  concomitant  of.  oral 
language.  It  is  the  first  instrument  which  man  uses  in  order 
to  communicate  his  thoughts,  for  he  knows  the  meaning  of 
signs  before  that  of  articulate  phrases  ;  and  it  is  his  last  re- 
sort when  speech  fails  him. 

Our  Creator  never  intended,  that  we  should  utter  our 
words  without  the  appropriate  tones  and  the  corroborative 
appearances  of  the  body.  These  accompaniments  of  speech 
are  as  necessary  to  its  full  effect,  as  animal  life  is  needful  for 
the  completeness  of  physical  beauty.  There  can  be  no  per- 
fect speech  without  them.  The  imperfect  manner  in  which 
they  are  frequently  exhibited,  results  from  that  obtuseness  of 
sensibility,  that  indolence  of  mind,  that  ignorance  of  the  fit- 
nesses of  things,  that  want  of  executive  power,  which  are 
remote  consequences  of  our  apostate  moral  condition.  A 
complete  orator  must  be  a  completely  holy  man ;  and  our 
natural  selfishness  has  superinduced  such  habits  of  thought 
and  feeling  as  make  us  awkward  and  inexpert  in  our  attempts 
to  express  what  passes  within  our  minds.  The  various  de- 
velopments of  affectation  are  the  result  of  our  pride  and  love 
of  display  ;  the  different  forms  of  dullness  in  our  speech  are 
occasioned  by  that  callous  sensibiHty  which  the  Bible  denom- 
inates '  hardness  of  heart.' 

The  natural  language  of  the  human  body,  being  indispen- 
sable to  the  full  effect  of  arbitrary  language,  is,  of  course,  an 
essential  accompaniment  of  all  earnest  address.  A  proper 
use  of  this  natural  language,  is  involved  in  a  good  elocution  ; 
and  such  an  elocution  is  thus  a  constituent  part  of  the  preach- 
ing of  the  gospel.  A  man  would  not  be  considered  as  preach- 
ing the  word  which  maketh  wise  unto  salvation,  if  he  should 
proclaim  it  in  an  unknown  tongue,  or  in  any  such  manner  as 
would  render  it  unintelligible ;  if,  for  instance,  he  should 
make  no  pauses  at  the  end  of  sentences,  and  should  let  his 
voice  fall  at  those  words  only  which  cannot  be  understood 
unless  uttered  with  a  rising  inflection  ;  if  he  should  use  the 


16  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

interrogative  tones  for  affirmative  remarks,  and  the  exclama- 
tory accent  for  the  simplest  didactic  phrase.  This  might  be 
trifling  with  the  gospel,  or  disfiguring  it,  but  not  preaching  it. 
Now  a  poor  elocution  does  make  certain  portions  of  the  pro- 
claimed word  unintelligible.  It  fails  to  express  those  delicate 
shades  of  thought,  which  are  elementary  parts  of  the  gospel 
itself.  It  suggests  positive  ideas,  which  the  words  uttered  do 
not  mean,  and"  which  are  sometimes  hostile  to  the  whole 
spirit  of  divine  truth.  The  most  injurious  impressions  have 
been  produced,  by  what  are  technically  called  *  immoral 
tones,'  in  the  utterance  of  Christian  doctrine. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  a  good  elocution  in  the  pulpit  is  as 
really  important  as  any  elocution  at  all.  If  it  be  useful  to 
preach  the  gospel,  then  it  is  useful  to  preach  it  so  that  it  will 
be  understood  and  felt.  If  its  truths  ought  to  be  expressed, 
they  ought  to  be  expressed  fully  and  properly.  To  proclaim 
them,  and  yet  adopt  such  a  manner  as  will  obscure  or  per- 
vert their  meaning,  and  blunt  their  force,  is  to  do  and  to  undo 
a  thing  at  the  same  time.  The  advantages  resulting  from  a 
true,  natural  elocution,  in  the  pulpit,  are  the  same  with  the 
advantages  of  Christian  doctrine  well  exhibited.  The  evils 
ensuing  from  a  false,  unnatural  elocution,  are  the  same  with 
the  evils  of  misrepresenting  the  word  of  God.  He  who  un- 
dervalues the  right  method  of  enunciating  religious  truth,  un- 
dervalues also  the  niceties  of  sentiment,  the  delicate  mould- 
ings of  thought,  which  are  a  constituent  portion  of  that  truth ; 
and  which  are  lost  from  the  view,  when  a  preacher's  elocu- 
tion hides  behind  itself  the  ideas  which  ought  to  be  delivered 
to  his  hearers.  An  affected  delivery  is  often  a  delivery  of 
mere  words,  often  words  conveying  a  thought  never  intended 
by  the  speaker. 

If,  then,  the  preaching  of  the  gospel  be  the  appropriate 
enunciation  of  divine  truth,  we  see  why  it  was  ordained  as 
the  chief  means  of  impressing  this  truth  upon  the  mind.  The 
Deity  might  have  required,  that  his  word  should  be  merely 
read  in  silence,  or  that  it  should  be  repeated  in  a  whisper 
from  a  single  individual  to  another,  or  that  it  should  be  only 


IMPORTANCE  OP  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  17 

chanted  or  sung.  But  he  chose  to  ordain  that  it  should  be 
preached,  i.  e.  uttered  in  the  appropriate  style,  by  a  sacred 
orator  to  a  listening  congregation.  Long  before  the  New 
Testament  was  committed  to  writing,  were  its  truths  impres- 
sed upon  the  public  mind  by  the  living  voice  of  the  presbyter. 
He  who  made  man,  knew  what  was  in  man.  He  knew  those 
latent  sensibiHties  of  the  soul,  which  can  be  touched  by  noth- 
ing so  well  as  by  truth  eloquently  spoken.  The  means  for 
our  spiritual  renovation  he  thus  wisely  adapted  to  the  princi- 
ples of  our  nature.  Hence  when  his  word  is  preached,  as  it 
ought  to  be,  in  an  earnest  and  an  emphatic  manner,  it  pro- 
duces a  peculiar  effect  upon  the  soul.  It  acquires  a  meaning 
which  it  does  not  seem  to  possess  upon  the  written  page. 
When  a  Whitefield  utters  the  words,  *  Oh !  wretched  man 
that  I  am,'  they  have  an  intensity  of  expression  which  a  si- 
lent reader  will  not  perceive.  The  power  of  those  and  of 
many  similar  phrases,  is  communicated,  in  some  degree,  by 
their  conventional  signs  ;  in  some  degree,  by  the  tones  which 
are  their  life ; — by  the  speaking  eye,  the  flushed  face,  the 
whole  air  and  mien  of  the  impassioned  orator. 

Being  endued  with  physical  and  spiritual  susceptibilities, 
man  is  the  most  deeply  impressed  when  an  appeal  is  made  to 
both  parts  of  his  sentient  nature  ;  when  the  eye  and  the  ear 
are  delighted,  as  well  as  the  mind  and  heart.  And  such  is 
the  sympathy  between  the  corporeal  and  the  mental  powers, 
that  when  the  former  are  in  a  state  of  appropriate  excitement, 
the  latter  act  with  increased  vigour  and  success.  The  soul 
perceives  the  more  of  truth,  and  feels  it  the  more  keenly, 
when  the  eye  traces  the  Hneaments  of  this  truth  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  speaker,  and  the  ear  catches  the  vibra- 
tions of  it  from  lips  which  have  been  touched  as  with  a  live 
coal  from  off  the  altar. 

Valerius  Maximus  says  of  the  Athenian  orator,  that  '  a 
great  part  of  Demosthenes  is  wanting,  for  it  must  be  heard 
and  not  read.'  QuintiUan  says  of  Hortensius,  that  '  there 
was  something  in  him  which  strangely  pleased  when  he 
spoke,  which  those  who  perused  his  orations  could  not  find.' 
2* 


18  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

The  younger  Pitt  remarked  that  he  could  never  conjecture, 
from  reading  his  father's  speeches,  where  their  eloquence  lay 
hidden.  And  there  have  been  thousands  of  preachers,  who 
tittered  truths  which  no  stenographer  could  seize  ;  which  no 
ready  writer,  with  a  command  of  the  most  extensive  vocabu- 
lary, could  transfer  to  the  silent  page,  for  they  were  truths 
that  beamed  from  the  eye,  and  were  breathed  out  in  the  tones 
of  the  voice,  and  were  visible  in  the  gesture,  but  could  not 
be  circumscribed  within  arbitrary  symbols. 

Conventional  terms  form  the  body  of  the  preacher's  utter- 
ance, but  the  soul  of  it  is  that  natural  language  which  God 
bas  made  indispensable  to  the  life-giving  power  of  artificial 
speech.  The  ordinance  of  preaching,  then,  is  no  arbitrary 
•appointment  of  Heaven.  It  was  wisely  chosen,  as  the  means 
most  philosophically  adapted  to  impress  the  mind  with  reli- 
gious truth.  The  more  perfect  the  preaching  is,  so  much  the 
more  exquisite  is  its  adaptation  to  produce  the  intended  effect. 
Other  things  being  equal,  that  sermon  will  be  the  most  effica- 
cious which  is  delivered  in  the  best  manner.  The  very  prin- 
ciple, on  which  the  preaching  of  the  gospel  is  more  useful 
than  the  publication  of  it  from  the  press,  makes  a  natural  and 
•expressive  style  of  preaching  it  more  useful  than  a  style 
"which  does  not  correspond  with  the  demands  of  the  subject. 
The  very  reason,  for  which  God  requires  us  to  preach  the 
word,  makes  it  necessary  to  preach  it  well,  to  speak  according 
to  the  best  rules  of  elocution,  which  are  no  other  than  the 
rules  prescribed  by  nature,  by  the  God  of  nature. 

Much  of  that  which  passes  under  the  name  of  preaching, 
does  not  desers^e  the  name.  It  may  be  called  a  poor  kind  of 
singing,  a  tedious  method  of  drawling,  a  soporific  way  of 
reading,  but  it  is  not  the  living  utterance  of  such  thought  as 
enkindles  the  eye,  the  gushing  forth  of  those  emotions  which 
cannot  be  fully  expressed  except  in  the  forms  of  eloquence. 
One  reason  why  preaching  is  less  effective  than  we  should 
antecedently  expect  it  to  be,  is  the  fact  that  there  is  less  of  it 
than  we  ordinarily  suppose.  All  the  dull,  clumsy,  turgid, 
weak,  insipid,  and  in  any  way  affected  methods  of  delivery, 


IMPOETANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  19 

are  to  be  subtracted  from  the  sum  total  of  what  is  denom- 
inated preaching ;  and  then  how  small  is  the  remainder  ! 

God  will  honour  the  laws  which  he  has  made,  and  will  man- 
ifest his  displeasure  toward  the  violation  of  these  laws.  The 
true  rules  of  elocution  are  established  by  the  Author  of  our 
being,  and  will  not  be  obeyed  without  advantage  nor  diso- 
beyed without  loss  ;  and  no  preacher  can  regard  himself  as 
serving  God  or  doing  good  to  man  in  the  act  of  contravening 
the  laws  of  speech.  He  may  be  useful  in  spite  of  his  oppo- 
sition to  nature  and  providence,  but  not  by  means  of  that  op- 
position. Truth  ill  administered  may  do  good ;  truth  well 
administered  will  do  more.  The  proprieties  of  the  adminis- 
tration add  a  power  to  the  truth ;  the  improprieties  of  the 
administration  take  a  power  away  from  it. 

It  has  long  been  a  desire  of  good  men,  to  make  the  servi- 
ces of  the  sanctuary  as  attractive  as  possible.  Music,  and 
architecture,  and  painting,  and  sculpture  have  all  imparted  of 
their  fascinations  to  the  exercises  of  worship.  Every  age 
has  witnessed  the  invention  of  some  new  rite,  or  the  restora- 
tion of  one  that  had  become  obsolete.  New  measures  and 
strange  measures  have  made  their  appeal  to  the  fancy  of  men, 
and  have  charmed  it  for  a  time.  But  the  chief  attraction  of 
public  worship  has  been  too  much  overlooked.  The  great 
majority  of  nominal  Christians  have  preferred  the  gorgeous- 
ness  of  a  ceremonial  above  the  eloquence  of  the  pulpit.  And 
yet  none  of  the  fine  arts  is  so  attractive  as  eloquence.  The 
most  philosophical  skeptic  whom  the  English  world  has  seen, 
declared  that  he  would  travel  twenty  miles  to  hear  the  preach- 
ing of  a  certain  Methodist  minister. 

There  is  something  in  the  voice  of  an  orator,  that  answers 
to  a  demand  of  the  soul.  By  the  flashes  of  his  eye,  the  heart 
of  an  audience  is  inflamed ;  and  men  are  sometimes  spell- 
bound by  the  upraising  of  his  hand.  Whether  they  love  or 
hate  the  truth  which  is  addressed  to  them,  they  are  enamour- 
ed of  the  form  in  which  it  appears.  Many  an  obnoxious  doc- 
trine of  the  Bible  lies  embedded  in  a  sweet  historical  narra- 
tive, which  allures  even  such  as  dislike  the  doctrine.     The 


20  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

casket  may  enclose  a  pearl,  which  is  less  highly  prized  than 
the  gold  in  which  it  is  encased.  But  thousands  who  come  to 
admire  the  winning  elocution,  remain  to  adore  the  great  Be- 
ing whose  character  is  so  appropriately  described.  It  is  the 
genius  of  Romanism  to  raise  the  orchestra  and  the  parade  of 
the  altar  above  the  pulpit.  Only  a  small  proportion  of  its 
priests  have  cultivated  the  art  of  speaking.  They  have  but 
little  encouragement  to  do  so.  The  forms  of  Christian  wor- 
ship most  prevalent  throughout  the  world,  have  tended  to 
withdi'aw  the  mind  from  the  proper  methods  of  proclaiming 
divine  truth.  Men  have  been  allured  into  the  sanctuary  by 
less  intellectual  and  more  artificial  attractions,  than  those  of 
a  racy  and  graceful  eloquence.  It  is,  or  must  we  say,  it 
should  be  the  glory  of  the  pulpit,  to  restore  the  appropri- 
ate allurements  to  Christian  worship ;  to  fascinate  men  by 
thoughts  well  attired,  well  exhibited.  The  mind  was  made 
for  thought,  and  will  be  pleased  with  it  longer  than  with  any 
external  ornament.  And  thought  expressed,  is  thought  still. 
The  enunciation  of  it  increases  its  influence  over  the  souL 
There  never  was  an  age  so  intellectual  as  the  present.  Our 
lyceums  have  well  nigh  supplanted  our  theatres.  It  is  then 
a  great  mistake  to  spend  our  time  in  decorating  our  ceremo- 
nials of  worship,  when  the  taste  of  the  age  requires  some- 
thing more  spiritual  and  refined  than  mere  pageantry.  It 
requires  a  more  copious  supply  of  facts  and  arguments  and 
illustrations  than  is  now  to  be  found,  and  a  more  interesting 
manner  of  exhibiting  them. 

If  we  would  meet  the  demands  of  our  time,  and,  indeed, 
of  all  times,  we  must  prefer  those  ornaments  which  are  the 
natural  and  appropriate  dress  of  truth,  to  those  which  are 
factitious  and  far-fetched.  The  graces  of  elocution  are  those 
which  belong  to  the  truth  itself.  The  expressiveness  of  atti- 
tudes and  gestures  and  tones,  is  nature.  It  flows  from  the 
mind.  It  is  the  result  of  the  inspiration  of  thought.  Statues 
and  pictures  and  robes  are  artificial  adornings  of  the  temple ; 
but  the  apostle  who  '  cannot  hut  speak  the  things  which  he 
hath  seen  and  heard,'  will  be  a  permanent  as  well  as  an  ap- 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  21 

propriate  attraction  to  the  sanctuary ;  and  men  who  would 
soon  be  satiated  with  the  chauntings  of  the  matins  and  the 
vespers,  will  come  again  and  again  to  hear  the  preacher  who 
speaks  like  one  anointed  to  publish  glad  tidings. 

Let  it  not  be  said,  that  this  mode  of  speaking  is  the  result 
of  divine  grace.  The  gifts  of  the  Spirit  never  supersede  the 
necessity  of  assiduous  culture.  Nor  let  it  be  said,  that  an 
effective  elocution  must  be  a  natural  endowment.  God  be- 
stows upon  men  the  faculties,  which  are  to  be  improved  by 
laborious  training.  All  men  cannot  be  orators,  but  the  major- 
ity of  men  may  be.  The  majority  of  men  are  eloquent,  when 
they  speak  for  their  selfish  interests.  It  is  a  corrupt  habit, 
which  has  made  our  speakers  so  sluggish ;  and  now  cultiva- 
tion is  required  in  order  to  restore  the  nature  which  has  been 
expelled  by  evil  practice. 

The  elocutionist  labours  not  to  make  men  artificial,  but  to 
make  them  cease  from  being  so  ;  not  to  mend  or  transform 
nature,  but  to  restore  and  develop  it.  He  labours  to  repress 
the  intrusions  of  a  proud,  selfish  spirit  into  the  style  of  a 
preacher ;  to  excite  the  dormant  energies  of  a  mind,  which 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  contemplating  truth  with  indiffer- 
ence ;  to  rectify  the  depraved  tastes  of  depraved  men ;  and 
to  teach  those  subordinate  graces  of  utterance,  which  would 
never  have  been  forgotten  if  man  had  not  been  sluggish,  re- 
gardless of  his  influence  over  others,  unmindful  of  his  accoun- 
tability to  Heaven  for  every  gift  which  he  has  received. 
In  fine,  the  elocutionist  labours  to  make  the  preacher  natural, 
and  therefore  impressive,  and  thus  attractive.  The  natural- 
ness is  to  be  the  proper  expression  of  the  truth ;  the  impres- 
siveness  is  to  be  the  legitimate  effect  of  the  thought  fitly  ut- 
tered ;  and  the  attractiveness  is  to  be  the  alluring  influence, 
which  the  purity  and  firmness  and  grandeur  of  the  word  of 
God  always  exert  upon  a  soul  that  is  attuned  to  the  love  of 
holiness,  or  even  awake  to  the  beauties  of  intellect. 


22  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION,  AN  IMPORTANT  PAllT  OF 
THE  PREPARATION  REQUIRED  BY  THE  PUBLIC  DU- 
TIES OF  THE  MINISTRY. 

[Contributed  by  the  Rev.  Edward  N.  Kirk,  pastor  of  the  Mount  Vernon 
Church,  Boston.] 

It  is  easy  to  recognize  the  difference  between  a  speaker 
who  is  agreeable  and  one  who  is  disagreeable,  between  one 
who  is  powerful  and  another  who  is  feeble.  Nor  can  any  one 
entertain  a  doubt  whether  that  difference  is  just  as  obvious  in 
the  pulpit  as  in  the  senate.  Every  preacher  would  desire  so  to 
deliver  his  sermon  as  that  his  meaning  should  be  clearly  per- 
ceived and  his  sentiments  deeply  felt,  rather  than  to  utter  it  in 
a  manner  unintelligible  and  unimpressive.  Every  congrega- 
tion of  worshippers  would  prefer  in  their  pastor  a  good  deliv- 
ery, to  an  awkward  and  disagreeable  style  of  speaking.  Let 
two  men  of  equal  piety  and  scholarship  be  presented  to  any 
of  ourHreligious  societies  ;  the  one  a  man  of  easy,  becoming 
carriage  in  the  pulpit,  of  simple,  natural  and  powerful  utter- 
ance ;  the  other  uncouth  in  attitude  and  movement,  indistinct 
and  stammering  in  his  enunciation,  and  wearisome  in  his 
drawling  tones  ;  can  any  man  in  his  senses  doubt,  which  of 
the  two  will  be  chosen  ?  No ;  thus  far  the  case  is  plain. 
But  if  we  go  back  of  this,  and  observe  this  finished  speaker 
in  the  detail  of  his  studies  and  vocal  gymnastics,  practising 
"  his  start  theatric  at  the  glass,"  there  we  shall  find  some  de- 
murring. Many  who  admire  the  orator,  are  averse  to  the 
process  of  discipline  which  gave  him  the  better  style.  There 
is,  in  other  words,  a  prejudice  in  the  community,  and  among 
many  excellent  candidates  for  the  gospel  ministry,  in  regard 
to  elocution  as  an  art  to  be  obtained  by  study  and  practice. 

This  prejudice  is  worthy  of  a  candid  examination  and  of 
an  earnest  effort  to  remove  it.  In  the  minds  of  some,  the 
study  and  practice  of  elocution  is  connected,  if  not  identified 
with  the  idea  of  substituting  sound  and  emotion  for  sense  and 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  23 

truth.  To  such  persons  it  may  be  suggested  that  there  is  no 
necessity  for  this  substitution.  The  importance  of  elocution 
presupposes  the  importance  of  other  things.  If  a  preacher 
have  not  the  right  things  to  say,  and  the  right  motives  and 
spirit  in  uttering  them,  manner  can  do  nothing  for  him  nor 
his.  hearers.  But  for  men  who  are  morally  and  intellectually 
qualified  to  preach  the  gospel,  the  importance  of  manner  can 
scarcely  be  overrated.  And  to  overlook  it  is  a  proof  neither 
of  piety,  dignity,  nor  wisdom.  If  there  were  some  ethereal 
way  of  communicating  with  the  mind ;  if  the  process  of 
preaching  were  designed  to  be  mesmeric  ;  and  people  were 
to  be  put  to  sleep,  instead  of  being  aroused,  in  order  to  in- 
struct and  impress  them,  we  might  dispense  with  elocution 
and  the  culture  it  requires.  But  so  long  as  men  are  in  the 
body,  it  will  be  found  requisite  for  the  most  effective  exercise 
of  the  ministry,  that  a  part  of  clerical  education  consist  in 
the  study  and  practice  of  oratory.  That  necessity  is  founded 
on  these  two  facts,  that  the  communication  of  thought  and 
feeling  depends  upon  the  right  exercise  of  our  bodily  organs ; 
and  that  those  organs  are  within  the  domain  of  that  great  law 
which  requires  the  cultivation  of  the  faculties.  It  is  not  suf- 
ficient for  the  purposes  of  electrical  power  that  the  battery  be 
fully  charged ;  a  good  conductor  must  be  added.  Alas  !  how 
much  preaching  is  in  the  class  of  non-conductors.  Elocution 
is  indeed  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit  in  a  man  who  has  no 
other  excellence ;  but  it  multiplies  indefinitely  the  power  of 
him  who  possesses  the  solid  qualities  of  the  ministry. 

In  the  minds  of  others,  elocution  is  identified  with  the  os- 
tentatious exhibition  of  the  parts  and  graces  of  the  speaker. 
But  this  is  confounding  the  use  and  the  abuse  of  a  good 
thino;.  Since  it  is  a  man  who  is  to  be  seen  and  heard,  and 
since  there  is  but  one  right  way  of  speaking  while  there  are  a 
thousand  wrong  ways,  the  man  will  do  well  to  learn  the  right. 
And  if  the  agreeable  impression  produced  by  an  agreeable 
person  and  manner  can  conduce  to  the  right  impressions  of 
truth,  the  very  purity  of  his  desire  to  do  good  should  induce 
him  to  cultivate  his  person  and  his  manner.     There  is  no- 


24  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

thing  in  the  study  of  elocution  peculiarly  adapted  to  awaken 
vanity.  Nor  is  there  any  more  inducement  for  an  eloquent 
man  to  make  display  his  end,  than  for  a  learned  man. 

Others  fear  that  they  shall  be  tempted  to  turn  their  atten- 
tion in  the  pulpit,  to  gestures  and  tones ;  and  thus  infi- 
nitely degrade  their  high  vocation.  This  again  is  a  possible, 
but  by  no  means  a  necessary  consequence.  It  is  a  perver- 
sion of  oratory.  There  is  no  more  need  of  bringing  the  rules 
of  oratory  into  the  pulpit,  than  the  rules  of  grammar  or  rhet- 
oric. Both  must  be  studied,  and  both  must  exercise  a  pow- 
erful influence  in  the  pulpit ;  but  neither  must  be  seen  there, 
for  an  instant  diverting  the  current  of  thought  or  feeling  in 
the  speaker.  The  greatest  orator,  in  an  extemporaneous 
address,  pays  strict  attention  to  the  minutest  rules  of  gram- 
mar. In  constructing  a  long  and  complex  sentence,  he  ob- 
serves with  scrupulous  exactness  the  bearing  of  grammatical 
rules  upon  the  inflection  and  position  of  each  word ;  but  there 
is  no  interruption  in  all  this  to  the  concentrated  action  of  his 
understanding,  no  extinction  of  the  fiery  current  of  his  feel- 
ing. The  rules  of  elocution  are  designed  to  form  the  man, 
to  correct  the  bad  habits  of  attitude,  speech,  and  gesture,  to 
make  the  body,  in  every  way,  the  fit  instrument  for  a  mind 
full  of  noble  thoughts  and  powerful  emotions.  There  may 
be  cases  of  half-fledged  orators  or  of  pedantic  speakers  turn- 
ing the  rostrum  or  the  pulpit  into  the  platform  of  a  school, 
and  showing  off  the  attitudes  and  tones  and  gestures  which 
they  admire  as  mere  attitudes,  tones  and  gestures.  But  all  this, 
we  repeat,  is  perversion,  equally  disgusting  with  the  parade 
of  scholarship  or  any  other  form  of  pedantry  in  the  sacred 
place,  but  no  more  a  reason  against  the  study  of  elocution 
than  against  that  of  Hebrew  or  rhetoric. 

The  considerations  in  favour  of  this  study  are  so  obvious, 
that  we  seem  to  be  uttering  common  places  in  presenting 
them.  But  since  it  is  evident  that  these  considerations  have 
not  yet  produced  their  proper  effect  on  our  students  of  theol- 
ogy ;  since  we  are  still  compelled  to  witness  the  bodily  dis- 
tortions, the  croakings  and  jerkings  and  screamings,  the  false 


IMPORTANCE  OP  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  20 

emphasis,  and  the  unmeaning  modulations  which  now  are,  to 
some  extent,  echpsing  the  brightest  lights  of  the  American 
pulpit, — we  feel  compelled  to  utter  common-place  truths. 

We  design,  then,  to  show  that  good  speaking  is  better  than 
bad  speaking,  that  propriety  in  speaking  is  more  proper  than 
impropriety.  And  if  our  chapter  appears  to  be  unworthy  of 
a  place  in  this  work,  let  it  be  set  down  to  the  fact  that  men, 
wise  men,  need  to  be  told  such  obvious  truths,  as  when  writ- 
ten, appear  childish. 

A  preacher  of  the  gospel  is  to  perform  the  most  important 
of  his  ministerial  services  in  the  pulpit.  Within  that  sacred 
enclosure  he  spends  some  of  the  most  important  hours  of  his 
life.  There  he  exhausts  his  physical  energies  ;  there  he 
strikes  the  chord  that  shall  vibrate  in  the  joys  or  sorrows  of 
his  hearers,  forever.  In  every  view  of  the  case,  then,  the  best 
mode  of  occupying  the  pulpit,  and  of  exercising  his  functions 
in  it,  cannot  be  unimportant.  If  there  be  a  way  of  diminish- 
ing the  weariness  of  the  speaker ;  if  there  be  a  way  of  pre- 
venting some  of  the  disastrous  physical  eflPects  of  public  speak- 
ing, surely  a  wise  man  will  not  think  the  matter  beneath  his 
notijce.  If  there  be  one  way  of  standing  and  speaking  more 
agreeable  to  an  audience  than  another,  surely  a  benevolent 
man  will  choose  the  better  way.  And  much  more  if  there  be 
a  way  of  making  one's  self  better  understood,  and  one's  sen- 
timents more  deeply  felt  by  an  audience,  no  honest  preacher 
can  undervalue  the  instruction  that  will  make  him  to  know 
it,  nor  the  discipline  by  which  he  may  attain  to  it.  But  all 
these  things  are  capable  of  demonstration.  If  we  begin  with 
the  least  important,  the  ease  and  health  of  the  preacher ;  we 
may  see  that  a  speaker  who  has  learned  to  stand  in  the  pul- 
pit on  two  feet,  will  be  less  fatigued,  at  the  end  of  an  hour, 
than  if  he  has  been  limping  and  hopping  on  one  foot,  as  we: 
have  seen  preachers  do ;  twining  one  limb  around  the  other, 
as  the  ivy  embraces  the  oak.  By  the  disastrous  effects  of 
public  speaking,  we  mean  the  derangement  of  the  functions 
of  the  throat  and  chest.  There  is  a  mode  of  employing  the 
vocal  muscles,  which  seriously  and  needlessly  wastes  the  ner* 
3 


Ttm  PtJLPIT  ELOCTTTION. 

vous  energy  of  the  system,  inflames  the  membrane  of  the 
throat  and  the  delicate  structure  of  the  bronchia.  All  this 
could  be  avoided  by  learning  to  use  the  muscles  that  were 
designed  for  the  purpose,  and  so  to  speak,  that  the  respira- 
tion and  pulsation  and  vocal  utterance  shall  move  in  harmony ; 
and  an  hour's  speaking  will  then  be,  for  the  body,  merely  a 
healthful  exercise.  This  is  not  exaggeration.  The  recent 
experience  of  some  preachers,  who,  by  proper  exercises  have 
totally  recovered  the  use  of  their  vocal  powers,  and  have 
learned  to  speak  with  an  ease  to  which  they  were  formerly 
strangers  in  the  pulpit,  confirms  it.  A  young  minister  will 
find  difliculties  enough  in  his  work,  to  make  the  diminution 
of  those  which  are  merely  physical,  a  matter  of  some  moment 
to  him. 

Nor  do  we  deem  it  unworthy  of  a  preacher's  attention  that 
he  should  remove  everj'thing  unnecessarily  disagreeable  from 
his  speaking,  and  add  to  it  everything  that  is  adapted  to  sat- 
isfy the  refined  taste  of  his  hearers.  When  Cowper  expresses 
his  abhorrence  of  the  *  start  theatric  practised  at  the  glass,' 
all  the  world  approves  the  censure,  because  all  the  world  un- 
derstands him  to  mean  the  affected  and  contemptible  exhibi- 
tion of  one's  self  as  the  object  of  admiration  to  an  assembly, 
who  are  waiting  to  hear  a  message  from  God.  There  certainly 
is  neither  piety  nor  power  in  clownishness.  And  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  if  some  speakers  had  practised  their  attitudes  and 
starts  before  a  glass,  they  would  never  have  inflicted  them  on 
their  hearers.  It  is  true,  that  people  of  good  taste  will  bear 
much  from  the  pulpit,  which,  in  the  parlour,  would  seem  to 
them  offensive.  But  there  is  an  evident  impropriety  and  dis- 
advantage in  so  taxing  their  respect  for  the  office  and  its  in- 
cumbent. The  preacher  is  often  called  to  speak  unpalatable 
truths.  There  is  thus  a  sufficient  degree  of  offensiveness  in 
his  employment,  to  spare  him  from  superadding  that  which 
may  arise  from  uncouth  positions  and  motions  of  the  body, 
grimaces  and  frowns,  monotony  and  false  emphasis.  An 
audience  is  often  wearied  under  a  sermon  full  of  sound  sense, 
distinctive  remarks,  and  the  fervent  spirit  of  piety.     They 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  27 

often  associate  with  a  preacher  of  sterling  excellence  some 
uncomfortable  feelings.  They  know  not  why ;  for  he  is  a 
good  man,  a  sensible  man,  a  man  of  true  piety  and  a  good 
theologian.     The  true  reason  is,  that  he  wearies  the  ear. 

The  mind  of  every  hearer  is  so  constituted,  that  variety 
pleases,  and  monotony  wearies  it.  This  is  true  of  the  body 
also.  The  muscles  of  the  limbs,  the  organs  of  taste,  the  eye, 
the  ear,  all  demand  variety.  And  while  the  highest  moral 
effect  from  discourse,  demands  unity,  this  law  of  the  mind  re- 
quires, at  the  same  time,  variety  in  unity.  This  principle 
should  control  alike  the  thought,  the  style,  and  the  delivery. 
The  unity  of  delivery  depends  upon  the  pitch  and  general 
current  of  the  voice ;  the  variety  depends  not  only  upon  the 
occasional  variation  of  pitch  and  direction,  but  upon  another 
circumstance  which  we  would  briefly  explain.  The  spoken 
English  language  contains  upwards  of  forty  distinct  sounds. 
Some  of  them  are  very  grateful  to  the  ear ;  and  all  of  them 
together  make  the  music  of  our  language.  Now  it  generally 
happens  that  every  uncultivated  speaker  fails  to  utter  several 
of  them  ;  and  usually  those  which  are  the  most  musical.  He 
likewise  gives  those  which  he  does  employ,  too  much  in  the 
same  mould.  Indolence  has  made  every  one  pronounce  his 
words  as  much  alike  as  is  consistent  with  being  understood. 
Hence  it  results  that  some  of  the  most  musical  sounds  of  our 
language,  are  not  heard  from  the  lips  of  many  speakers  ;  and 
instead  of  more  than  forty,  uttered  in  their  varied  combina- 
tions, we  are  confined  to  a  greater  or  less  number  below  this. 
The  hearers  do  not  know  why,  but  their  minds  seldom  con- 
tinue aroused  to  the  end  of  some  discourses,  when  they  know, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  preacher  thinks  well  and  writes 
well.  The  monotony  of  sound  itself  is  sufficient  to  account 
for  it.  To  overcome  this  indolent  and  inelegant  habit,  re- 
quires the  careful  cultivation  of  the  ear,  to  distinguish  these 
sounds,  and  of  the  vocal  organs  to  utter  them  with  precision 
and  purity. 

But  these  considerations  are  still  inferior  to  another,  which 
is,  that  the  perspicuity  and  impressiveness  of  a  discourse  re- 


28 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


quire  a  correct  delivery.  The  shades  of  thought  in  the  mind 
depend  for  their  correct  expression,  not  merely  upon  words, 
hut  also  upon  the  mode  of  pronouncing  them.  It  scarcely 
needs  to  be  repeated  here  that  a  bad  emphasis  may  make  a 
true  statement  become  a  falsehood.  It  is  not  merely  the 
tongue  that  speaks  ;  the  whole  frame  utters  a  language  defi- 
nite and  powerful.  The  moment  a  speaker  rises  before  an 
audience,  he  makes  an  impression.  His  attitude  is  a  lan- 
guage. If  he  be  a  man  of  true  dignity,  and  his  soul  be  ele- 
vated by  the  noblest  sentiments ;  he  may,  for  want  of  a  pro- 
per cultivation  of  his  body,  produce  the  contrary  impression 
on  his  hearers.  An  erect  attitude  is  dignified,  and  becomes 
no  man  more  than  him  who  approaches  his  fellows  with  mes- 
sages from  God.  And  every  man  of  true  dignity  should  ac- 
custom his  body  to  correspond  to  his  mind,  and  not  to  belie 
it.  Physical  uprightness  is  not  an  unbecoming  representa- 
tive and  expression  of  moral  rectitude.  There  is  more  moral 
effect  on  an  audience  in  a  posture  which  presents  the  expand- 
ed front,  than  in  the  side-posture  of  a  fencing-master.  There 
is  also  more  power  in  the  gestures  which  are  made  by  a  body 
firmly  sustained,  than  by  one  which  reels  upon  its  base.  The 
voice,  too,  is  capable  of  countless  inflections,  each  one  of  which 
is  itself  a  language  to  the  soul.  Every  shade  of  sentiment  in 
a  discourse  has  an  appropriate  modulation  of  the  voice ;  and 
if  that  modulation  be  not  made,  that  sentiment  must  lie  buried 
in  the  bosom  of  the  speaker :  the  hearer  fails  just  so  far  to 
participate  in  it.  With  many  preachers  the  exercise  of  read- 
ing the  Scriptures  and  the  hymns,  appears  to  be  a  mere  form. 
This  is  a  great  loss  to  their  hearers.  The  reading  of  the  Scrip- 
tures by  Dr.  John  Mason,  was  said  to  be  a  commentary  on 
them.  The  reading  of  the  hymns  by  Mr.  Nettleton,  was  of- 
ten a  sermon  to  the  assembly. 

All  this  may  be  admitted,  however,  and  yet  the  conviction 
not  be  received,  of  the  importance  of  cultivating  elocution. 
Let  it  then  be  repeated,  that  the  powers  of  utterance  come 
under  the  great  law  of  education,  which  pertains  to  the  entire 
man.     No  physical  function  of  man  is  capable  of  greater  im- 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  29 

provement  than  the  voice.  Its  compass,  its  musical  quality, 
its  distinctness,  its  flexibility,  its  delicate  utterance  of  senti- 
ment, admit  of  indefinite  improvement.  The  oratorical  taste, 
too,  can  be  cultivated  to  a  very  high  degree ;  so  that  the  body 
shall  enter  into  the  most  delicate  sympathy  with  the  mind 
and  heart,  and  faithfully  symbohze  to  every  other  eye  and 
ear  all  the  wonderful  workings  of  the  spiritual  man.  The  age 
of  miracles  is  past.  And  since  *  it  has  pleased  God,  by  the 
foolishness  of  preaching  to  save '  men ;  and  since  preaching 
employs  organs  and  faculties  which  we  find  to  be  capable  of 
so  great  improvement,  we  must  believe  that  God  will  employ 
a  preacher  who  has  cultivated  his  oratorical  powers,  to  do  a 
greater  amount  of  good  by  preaching,  than  another  of  equal 
piety  and  learning,  who  has  neglected  this  cultivation.  From 
the  present  style  of  the  pulpit  and  the  senate,  one  might  sup- 
pose that  the  age  of  eloquence  is  past.  We  beHeve  it  is  yet 
to  come.  The  power  of  a  preached  gospel  is  yet  to  be  seen 
as  our  eyes  have  not  seen  it.  And  if  we  may  still  further 
express  our  anticipations,  we  believe  that  three  things  are  de- 
manded for  the  coming  of  that  age ;  a  stronger  faith  in  God 
and  his  word,  a  profounder  knowledge  of  divine  and  human 
things,  a  thorough  cultivation  of  the  functions  of  speech. 


ELOCUTION,   AS   A   DEPARTMENT    OF   PREPARATORY 
STUDY  IN  THEOLOGY. 

[By  the  Author  of  the  present  volume.] 

The  preceding  observations  will,  no  doubt,  be  received 
with  that  full  weight  of  effect,  which  justly  belongs  to  the 
sources  from  which  they  come.  Nor  would  the  author  feel 
disposed  to  present  his  own  thoughts  on  the  subject,  were  it 
not  for  the  necessity  of  meeting  objections  such  as  he  hears 
frequently  offered  to  the  systematic  study  of  elocution,  as 
either  unnecessary  or  injurious. 

A  teacher  in  the  department  of  elocution,  has  to  commu- 
3* 


so  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

nicate  with  minds  under  every  variety  of  impression  on  the 
subject  of  culture.  He  meets,  occasionally,  with  students 
■whose  lack  of  self-confidence,  and  even  of  a  just  self-reliance, 
leads  them  to  despair  of  effecting  anything  in  the  way  of  suc- 
'Cessful  cultivation,  even  after  the  most  resolute  and  persever- 
ing exertions.  He  finds,  sometimes,  on  the  other  hand,  those 
whose  self-esteem  induces  a  perfect  satisfaction  with  their 
habitual  manner,  be  it  what  it  may,  and  who  are  confident 
that  they  need  little  aid  from  any  source  but  what  is  within 
themselves.  He  sees,  perhaps,  one  individual  who  has  form- 
ed an  undue  estimation  of  mere  tuition  and  preparatory  train- 
ing, and  who  evidently  expects  too  much  from  such  aids,  and 
subjects  himself  too  passively  to  mere  processes ;  and  another 
who,  from  superficial  attention  to  the  merits  of  the  question, 
or  from  prejudice  or  whim,  contemns  cultivation,  as  a  thing 
wholly  supererogatory,  or  necessarily  artificial  and  false,  or, 
at  best,  but  mechanical  and  external. 

An  instructor  has  therefore  to  urge,  on  some  minds,  the 
value  and  importance  of  the  processes  of  culture  in  this  de- 
partment of  education,  and  to  dwell  on  things  familiar  or 
self-evident  to  other  minds. 

The  objections  to  systematic  training  in  elocution,  espe- 
cially with  reference  to  the  purposes  of  the  pulpit,  are  often 
founded  on  grounds  apparently  just,  or,  certainly,  quite  plau- 
sible. Standing  on  the  broad  ground  that  the  great  point  in 
expression,  is  tjie  utterance  of  feeling,  the  objector  maintains 
that  nothing  else  is  requisite, — that  no  rule  can  be  required, 
when  feeling  is  genuine, — that  what  a  man  feels  deeply  he 
must  express  strongly  and  truly,  and  therefore  eloquently, — 
that  to  propose  the  idea  of  referring  to  a  rule,  when  under  an 
impulse  of  emotion,  is  absurd, — that  utterance  modified  by 
rule  is  but  an  artificial  mimicry  of  emotion, — that  the  idea  of 
one  man  learning  of  another  how  to  express  his  own  feelings, 
is  ridiculous, — that,  if  a  speaker  really  has  anything  to  say, 
he  will  easily  find  the  way  to  say  it. 

But  alas !  the  eloquent  nullifier  of  cultivation,  is,  perhaps, 
in  the  meantime,  uttering  his  very  objections  in  the  nasal 


IMPORTANCE  OP  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  31 

tone  which  habit  has  made  second  nature  and  truth  to  him, 
but  which,  to  one  unaccustomed  to  hear  the  tones  of  the  hu- 
man voice  assimilated  to  those  of  an  ill-played  violin,  is  capa- 
ble of  exciting  no  emotions  but  those  of  the  risible  order :  or 
he  is  emitting  his  voice  with  the  guttural  tones  which,  some- 
times, make  man  approach  the  quadruped,  in  his  utterance ; 
he  is  articulating  his  words  so  imperfectly,  that  one  syllable 
obliterates  another ;  or  he  is  marking  his  emphasis  with  a 
double  twist  of  intensity,  which  seems  to  verify,  on  the  spot, 
the  half-raalicious  assertion  of  Dickens,  that  '  the  Americans 
search  out  every  unaccented  syllable  in  a  word,  to  give  it  an 
accent,  and  every  unemphatic  word  in  a  sentence,  to  clap  an 
emphasis  upon  it ;'  and, — from  want  of  natural  or  acquired 
ear  for  the  character  of  vocal  tone, — he  is,  perhaps,  all  the 
while,  using  a  coarse  violence  of  voice,  which  makes  his  ear- 
nestness become  the  vehemence  of  an  angry  dispute. — The 
opponent  of  cultivation  forgets,  in  fact,  that  the  radical  doc- 
trine of  no  culture,  is  true  only  on  condition  that  natural  and 
acquired  habits  are  perfect  in  the  community  in  which  an  in- 
dividual is  educated,  and  consequently  in  himself. 

But,  even  suppose  such  a  state  of  things  to  exist,  a  gener- 
ous and  truly  philosophic  view  of  human  culture,  would  lead 
to  a  very  different  conclusion,  as  we  see  in  the  practice  of  the 
ancient  Athenians — that  people  so  exquisitely  perfect  in  phy- 
sical organization,  so  quick  and  susceptible  in  ear,  so  delicate 
and  true  in  taste,  so  vivid  in  feeling,  so  poetic  in  imagination, 
so  subtle  and  refined  in  intellect,  so  intensely  ardent  in  tem- 
perament, so  expressive,  so  eloquent,  in  speech  and  action. 
It  was  that  very  people, — so  endued  with  every  grace  of  na- 
ture and  every  accomplishment  of  art, — that  carried  the  sys- 
tematic study  of  eloquence,  and  the  artistic  discipline  of 
voice  and  person,  tone,  look,  attitude,  and  action,  to  the  high- 
est point  of  cultivation, — that  left  no  expedient  untried,  by 
which  thought  and  emotion  might  be  most  efficaciously  ad- 
dressed to  the  mind,  through  the  appointed  avenues  of  sense. 

The  raw  youth  who  is  objecting  to  cultivation,  as  some- 
thing that  will  mar  the  symmetry  or  impair  the  originality  of 


32  PULPIT  ELOCUTION.       . 

his  genius,  forgets  that  the  two  most  eloquent  of  men, — De- 
mosthenes, among  the  Greeks,  and  Cicero,  among  the  Ro- 
mans,— were  the  most  assiduous,  the  most  rigorous,  the  most 
literal  self-cultivators,  in  the  humblest  and  minutest  details 
of  practical  elocution. 

Surely,  if  ever  there  was  a  community  in  which  system- 
atic discipline  might  have  been  dispensed  with,  it  was  that  of 
Athens,  whose  humblest  citizen  was  daily  listening  to  the 
eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  to  the  tragedies  of  -^schylus,  So- 
phocles, and  Euripides ;  living  in  the  daily  vision  of  archi- 
tectural structures  like  the  Parthenon,  and  of  sculptures  such 
as  those  of  Phidias ;  listening  to  a  music  worthy  of  these  sis- 
ter arts,  or  to  the  recitation  of  the  '  rhapsodies'  of  Homer.  But 
it  was  in  that  very  community  that  oratory  had  its  diversified 
orders  of  schools  and  seminaries,  for  the  formation  of  the 
voice,  and  for  the  moulding  of  the  body. 

The  superficial,  popular  objection,  that  the  Grecian  cul- 
ture was  fastidious,  minute,  and  fanciful,  is  wholly  gratuitous. 
Men  such  as  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  could  not  have  sub- 
mitted to  a  fantastic  discipline.  The  former  stands  acknow- 
ledged the  strongest  and  manliest  specimen  of  mind,  that  his- 
tory has  preserved  to  us ;  the  latter,  the  most  practical  in 
tendency,  and  the  most  various  in  power,  character,  and  ac- 
complishment. The  indefatigable  self-culture  of  the  former, 
and  its  sanction  by  the  practice  of  the  latter, — when  himself 
in  Greece, — are  facts  against  which  it  is  in  vain  to  dispute. 

How  then  can  we  regard  the  presumption  of  him  who, 
without  study,  and  without  practice,  assumes  the  duties  of  an 
ofiice  which  implies  the  power  of  persuasive  and  impressive 
discourse  on  the  highest  themes  of  thought,  the  noblest  rela- 
tions of  being,  and  the  profoundest  emotions  of  the  soul? 
The  prince  of  Roman  orators  regarded  the  prelusive  tremor 
of  anxiety  as  an  indispensable  token  of  the  earnest  speaker 
at  the  judiciary  tribunal, — what  a  reproof  to  the  self-suj05- 
ciency  which  can  afford  to  dispense  with  the  idea  of  cultiva- 
tion, for  the  loftiest  purposes  of  speech  ! 

But  let  us  return,  for  a  moment,  to  the  actual  state  of  the 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  33 

case.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  condition  of  things  in  an- 
cient Greece  or  Rome,  where  a  universal  taste  for  eloquence, 
and  the  prevalent  passion  for  distinction  and  renown,  may 
have  contributed  much  to  foster  the  cultivation  of  oratory ;  it 
is  a  fact  universally  admitted,  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  constitu- 
tion and  temperament  do  not  confer  a  predisposition  to  elo- 
quence in  its  external  relations.  An  instructive  contrast 
presents  itself  in  the  case  of  the  Irish  nation.  That  people 
are, — from  the  noble  to  the  peasant, — constitutionally  ex- 
pressive and  eloquent,  in  attitude,  action,  look,  and  tone.  The' 
Englishman  may  be  galled  into  indignant  invective,  he  may 
be  roused  to  forcible  argument ;  but  he  is  not  spontaneously 
eloquent.  The  Scotchman  may  be  rich  in  the  mental  mate- 
rials of  eloquence,  in  the  poetry  of  thought,  in  the  pathos  of 
feeling,  in  the  play  of  imagination  ;  but  he  is  not  externally 
expressive — quite  otherwise, — he  is  awkward,  rather.  A 
similar  distinction  obviously  exists,  in  the  United  States,  be- 
tween the  native  dignity  of  deportment  and  the  eloquent  ex- 
pression, so,  generally  characteristic  of  the  people  of  the 
South,  contrasted  with  the  rigid,  cold,  hard,  dry,  angular,  and 
reserved  manner,  which  prevails  in  New  England.* 

The  chill  exterior  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, — although  en- 
vironing a  world  of  interior  and  central  fire, — freezes  the 
stream  of  expressive  feeling,  and  encrusts  the  surface  of  char- 
acter and  manner.  The  prevalent  notion  in  old  and  in  New 
England,  alike, — that  manliness  demands  reserve,  and  dig- 
nity, stififness, — throws  a  morbid  restraint  over  the  tendencies 
of  nature  to  communication  and  expression,  and  prematurely 
quenches  the  capability  of  eloquence  in  exterior  manner. 
Here  is  one  reason  why,  with  us,  the  express  cultivation  of 
manner  in  speaking,  becomes  so  important,  as  a  compensa- 
tion for  the  prevalence  of  counteracting  habit  in  social  and 
domestic  life.  The  vivacious,  the  tasteful,  the  spirited,  the 
graceful,  ethereal  Greek  might,  perhaps,  have  dispensed  with 

*  It  was  not  a  random  remark  in  a  late  American  divine,  that  the 
Norman,  not  the  Saxon  spirit,  seemed  to  characterize  our  Southern 
States. 


9*  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

the  culture  of  manner  in  expressive  utterance.  Not  so  with 
the  blunt,  surly,  and  taciturn  Englishman,  or  with  the  angu- 
lar, mechanical,  and  constrained  New  Englander. 

But  our  impediments  to  eloquence  of  manner,  do  not  lie 
in  constitution  and  habit  only  ;  they  are  embedded  into  our 
systems  of  education.  Our  schools  and  colleges  equally  tend 
to  produce  a  false  and  inexpressive  style  of  speaking.  We 
take  a  boy,  at  an  early  age,  without  previous  moulding,  and 
place  him  on  the  platform  of  the  school  rostrum,  to  speak  a 
set  speech,  a  formal  declamation,  or  a  political  harangue,  of 
which  he  knows  little,  and  feels  less.  Such  is  our  first  step 
in  oratorical  training.  Could  the  result  be  other  than  what 
it  so  generally  is  ?  Our  boys  early  acquire  an  unnatural, 
formal,  old-man-like  style  of  speaking,  which  has  no  heart, 
— no  truth, — no  reality, — no  vividness, — no  genuine  earnest- 
ness ;  although,  under  the  exciting  influence  of  circumstan- 
ces, it  may  be  forced,  occasionally,  from  the  monotony  of  the 
pulpit,  into  the  hacking  and  jagged  style  of  the  bar,  the  tur- 
gid vehemence  of  the  popular  declaimer,  or  the  unnatural 
violence  of  the  partisan  champion. 

The  unmeaning  tone  and  manner,  thus  contracted  in  early 
years,  become,  unconsciously  to  the  individual,  the  fixed 
habits  of  after  life;  the  college  declamation  confirms  the 
style  acquired  at  school;  and  the  professional  institution 
stamps,  with  its  irrevocable  seal,  the  manner  of  the  man  in 
his  maturity.  Hence  the  rarity,  among  us,  of  the  accom- 
phshment  of  a  chaste,  easy,  and  natural  style  of  speaking,  of 
the  power  of  rising  gracefully  and  appropriately  with  the  in- 
spiration of  a  subject, — of  becoming  forcible,  yet  free  from 
violence, — of  expressing  strong  emotion,  without  turbulence. 

Cultivation  of  manner  in  speaking,  is  rendered  highly  im- 
portant, not  only  by  circumstances  which  affect  races  and 
communities  of  men,  but  by  those,  also,  which  act  upon  the 
individual.  Who  is  there  that  can  say  he  has  been  duly 
educated,  by  the  silent  but  most  effective  of  all  teaching, — 
that  of  perfect  example,  operating  from  childhood  to  man- 
hood ?    Who  is  there,  of  whom  it  can  be  justly  said,  that  he 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  35 

is  free  from  every  vice  of  organ  and  of  habit,  in  speech  or 
action? — The  fault  of  misarticulating  a  single  letter,  may 
effectually  vitiate  a  speaker's  habit  of  enunciation  ;  a  single 
ungainly  trick  of  gesture,  may  render  his  whole  manner 
ridiculous.  How  often  is  a  gross  and  glaring  fault  the  pre- 
dominating characteristic  of  the  self-confident  speaker  who 
derides  the  idea  of  cultivation  ! 

Objections  to  the  study  of  elocution,  however,  are  usually 
founded  on  erroneous  views  of  its  design  and  effect.  It  is 
thought  to  involve  artificial  processes  and  artificial  results, — 
to  be  a  fabricated  attempt,  to  imitate  nature,  a  process  of  wire- 
pulling, by  which  the  voice  and  the  arms  are  to  be  mechani- 
cally moved  and  displayed,  by  rule.  No  view  can  be  more 
false  than  this.  Elocution  is,  indeed,  the  art  of  managing 
the  voice  and  the  person,  in  the  act  of  speech.  But,  like 
every  other  form  of  genuine  art,  it  is  only  the  highest  and 
the  best,  the  truest  forms  of  nature  imbodied  in  practice. 

Man  naturally  possesses  and  employs  all  the  elements  of 
this  art.  The  child  is,  in  his  sphere,  the  perfect  model  for 
the  orator, — the  living  poet  of  expression.  But  the  child,  as 
he  emerges  successively  into  the  boy,  the  youth,  the  man, — 
just,  as  according  to  the  poet,  he  lets  the  divine  ray  within 
him  *  fade  into  the  common  light  of  day,' — loses  this  original 
and  admirable  faculty,  in  the  dull  routine  of  formal  education. 
He  unconsciously  sacrifices  nature  to  the  lowest  of  all  the 
shapes  of  art, — that  of  conventional  habit, — the  machinery 
of  arbitrary  form. 

The  human  being,  as  he  goes  on  from  that  beautiful  spot 
in  his  early  life,  where  all  was  truth  and  beauty  and  power, 
poetry  and  eloquence, — from  the  time  when  every  look,  and 
tone,  and  action  was  inspired  with  the  truest  and  most  ex- 
pressive life, — would  carry  the  atmosphere  of  that  scene  with 
him,  and  expand  in  power  of  expression,  as  his  intellect  ex- 
panded. But  the  expressive  powers  of  the  boy,  are  neglect- 
ed, and  left  to  wither.  Our  places  of  education  make  no 
provision  for  the  culture  of  imagination  and  feeling, — the 
main-springs  of  living  communication. 


Ob  PtJLPIT  ELOCtJTION. 

•The  young  child  is  surrounded,  in  the  great  school  of 
nature,  with  innumerable  objects  which  elicit  expression 
from  the  heart ;  and  his  impressible  imagination  assimilates 
itself  to  the  scene,  and  takes  on  and  gives  off,  with  ease,  and 
with  brilliant  effect,  the  choicest  forms  of  eloquent  tone,  at- 
titude, and  action.  But  when  the  period  of  school-life  is 
arrived,  these  rich  sources  of  influence  are,  in  a  degree,  cut 
off,  or  he  is  debarred  from  them.  The  close  room,  the  bench, 
and  the  book,  take  the  place  of  the  inspiring  air,  the  green 
bank,  and  its  alphabet  of  flowers.  The  oxygen  of  life  is 
withdrawn  ;  the  lungs  play  feebly  ;  the  circulation  lags  ;  the 
spirit  of  communication  is  quenched ;  the  brain  becomes  dull 
and  inert ;  the  mind  is  impoverished  ;  the  heart  is  quelled  ; 
the  fancy  languishes ;  the  hours  become  irksome  from  the 
sense  of  weariness  and  restraint.  Nor  does  an  inspiring  in- 
tellectual activity  take  the  place  of  nature's  incitements  :  the 
mental  processes,  on  the  contrary,  are,  principally,  mechani- 
cal and  insipid, — a  weary  round  of  senseless  reiteration  of 
unmeaning  and  unintelligible  sounds,  amid  which  the  atten- 
tion works  with  the  movement  of  the  mill-horse,  in  its  never 
ending,  never  changing  round. 

But  the  scene  is  not  shifted,  even  when  ceaseless  reitera- 
tion has  left  its  mark  on  the  memory,  and  the  arbitrary  pro- 
cess of  spelling  and  syllabication,  has  been  repeated  till  the 
mind  has  become  expert  in  the  mechanical  operation  of  read- 
ing. The  little  student  of  written  language,  is  then  present- 
ed, perhaps,  with  a  book  of  abstract  sentences  which,  to  him, 
are  unintelligible,  or,  at  most,  lifeless  successions  of  sound 
uninspired  by  feeling  ;  in  which  imagination, — with  its  ut- 
most stretch  of  inventive  power, — can  find  no  food,  and 
amid  which  it  gradually  dies  out.  Add  to  all  this  neglect  and 
privation,  the  effect  of  being  drilled  into  the  habit  of  duly 
*  pausing  till  you  can  count  one,'  at  every  comma, — of  giv- 
ing an  emphasis  on  the  model  of  the  pedantic  circumflex  of 
the  schoolmaster,  and  uttering  the  tones  of  emotion  in  the 
style  of  his  stereotype  utterance  ;  and  the  usual  consumma- 
tion is  attained ;  the  power  of  natural,  free,  expressive  voice, 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  37' 

is  utterly  eradicated ;  and  the  transplanted  scion  of  false 
habit,  has  taken  most  effectual  root.  The  eloquent  child  has 
become  a  dull  and  mistuned  reader,  and  is  fully  prepared  to- 
become,  in  his  next  stage  of  education,  a  lifeless  and  soul- 
less speaker. 

What  elocution  aims  at,  under  these  circumstances,  is  to> 
restore  the  lost  power  of  expression,  to  inspire  natural  life- 
into  the  voice,  to  strip  off  the  incrustation  of  mechanical- 
habit,  and  leave  the  soul  again  free  to  utter  itself  in  whatever- 
mood  nature  prompts  to  the  individual.  Elocution  prescribes 
no  technical  uniformity  of  manner :  it,  in  the  first  place,, 
hands  to  the  student  the  implements  of  scientific  analysis,. 
and  enables  him  to  detect  the  complexities  of  tone,  and  to- 
become  familiar  with  every  element,  in  all  its  varied  aspects 
of  combination ;  and,  since  the  date  of  Dr.  Rush's  masterly 
analytic  exhibition  of  the  human  voice,  the  requisite  pro- 
cesses have  become  as  definite  and  as  tangible  as  those  of" 
music.  Having  accomplished  its  office  as  a  science,  elocutioa 
next  presents  itself  as  an  art,  and  aids  the  student  in  recon- 
structing the  vocal  fabric ;  inserting  every  element  in  its  due. 
place,  according  to  its  character, — with  the  observant  eye- 
faithfully  fixed  on  nature,  as  the  only  model ;  but  careful- 
ly discriminating  between  the  local,  corrupted  exhibitions 
of  nature,  in  mechanical  habit,  and  the  free,  general  work- 
ing of  nature  as  a  principle; — distinguishing  the  specialities^ 
of  actual  usage  from  its  broad  axioms  and  laws. 

Elocution,  when  true  to  its  purposes,  thus  emancipates, 
the  individual  from  the  trammels  of  mere  accidental  habit 
and  corrupted  custom,  and  sets  him  out  on  a  new  career  of' 
action,  in  which  he  is  guided  by  conscious  knowledge,  by  in- 
telligent preference,  by  recognized  truth,  by  reflective  judg- 
ment, and  deliberate  will,  by  personal  organization,  and  indi-^ 
vidual  character, — the  true  sources  of  eloquence  in  exter- 
nal manner. 

Our   present  defective  systems   of  education,   leave   this 
work  as  a  task   of  self-cultivation,  for  every  student  who. 
would  succeed  in   acquiring   the  power  of  expressive  utter- 
4 


9^  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ance ;  and  years  of  assiduous  endeavour  are  surely  not  too 
high  a  price  to  pay  for  such  an  acquirement.  The  eradi- 
cation of  the  false  habits  which  neglect  and  misdirected  cul- 
ture have  accumulated,  would,  alone,  render  necessary  a  long 
and  laborious  course  of  application.  The  universal  tone, 
for  example,  of  our  academic  *  exhibitions,'  displays  false  in- 
tonation and  partial  song,  throughout.  No  student  gives  us, 
on  such  occasions,  his  own  personal  tone,  but  a  certain  aver- 
age result  of  all  the  arbitrary  effects  of  voice,  which  he  has 
heard  others  use,  in  similar  circumstances.  We  hear,  from 
every  speaker,  but  a  succession  of  sentences,  in  which  sound 
seems, — so  to  speak, — to  have  become  stereotyped  of  old,  and 
thence  to  have  descended,  as  an  inheritance,  to  successive 
generations,  to  be  regularly  assumed  with  the  orator's  aca- 
demic gown.* 

*  That  the  author's  strictures  on  the  deficiencies  of  established  modes 
of  education,  as  regards  systematic  culture  in  elocution,  are  not  unfound- 
ed, may  be  inferred  from  the  following  facts,  which  indicate  a  spirit  of 
retrogradation,  rather  than  advancement. 

When  the  author  commenced  his  instructions  in  elocution,  at  Harvard 
University,  and  the  Latin  and  High  Schools  of  Boston,  in  the  year  1825, 
all  the  requisite  facihties  for  his  pui-poses  were  readily  extended  to  him, 
by  the  proper  authorities,  and  continued  for  successive  yeai-s.  But,  of 
late,  when,  in  repeated  instances,  students,  who,  in  their  early  life,  had 
been  under  the  author's  instruction,  have  been  desirous  of  continuing  to 
receive  it, — they  have  been  discouraged  or  prohibited  from  doing  so  ;  and, 
even  when  numbers  have  formed  themselves  into  classes,  and  solicited 
the  aid  of  being  allowed  to  receive  then-  instruction  in  one  of  the  Univer- 
sit}'  halls,  the  use  of  a  room  has  been  refused.  The  mere  letter  of  a  law 
prohibiting  students  from  deriving  instruction  from  any  source  but  the 
university, — even  if  the  Gothic  pohcy  of  such  a  law  can  be  sanctioned  in 
a  free  community, — is  no  plea  in  a  case  in  which  such  instniction  had 
been  previously  approved,  and  even  solicited,  at  intervals,  for  nearly 
twenty  years. 

It  is  a  fact  of  kindred  character,  that  those  who  control  the  regulations 
of  the  Latin  and  High  Schools  of  Boston, — instead  of  encouraging,  as 
foi-merly,  the  pupils  of  those  schools  to  study  elocution  more  extensively 
than  the  prescribed  limits  of  the  school  routine  allow, — actually  restrain 
them  from  it,  by  the  most  effectual  of  all  prohibitions,— that  of  striking 
off  from  the  list  of  competitors  for  prizes,  the  names  of  those  who  are 
known  to  take  the  benefit  of  private  tuition.    The  policy  of  this  measure 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  39 

The  false  intonation  thus  cherished  in  academies  and  col- 
leges, reappears  in  professional  life,  in  the  dry,  mechanical 
modulation  of  the  lawyer,  the  heavy  and  somnolent  tones  of 
the  clergyman,  and  the  *  inexplicable  dumb  show  and  noise' 
of  the  popular  declaimer. 

The  office  of  elocution  is  to  enable  the  student  to  detect 
and  avoid  the  various  forms  of  error  in  general  usage,  and  in 
the  habits  of  the  individual, — to  assist  him  in  throwing  off 
the  load  of  unmeaning  and  unnatural  custom,  and  to  give  him 
direct  access  to  the  hearts  of  others,  by  the  true  and  full  ex- 
pression of  his  own. 

But  even  if  there  were  no  obstructions  to  progress,  such  as 
those  which  have  been  described, — did  every  student  actual- 
ly enjoy  the  advantage  of  starting  on  his  mental  career,  un- 
embarrassed by  any  hinderance  of  habit  or  circumstance, — 
the  very  growth  and  expansion  of  his  intellectual  character, 
would  be  ever  making  new  demands  for  a  commensurate 
power  of  expression.  A  mind  furnished  with  all  possible 
accumulations  of  thought, — to  him  who  cannot  give  them 
utterance,  is  but  ^  the  locked  coffer,  without  its  key.' — Every 
step  up  the  steep  of  knowledge,  calls  forth,  in  the  rightly  con- 
stituted mind,  a  new  fountain  of  emotion,  a  new  world  of  as- 
sociation for  scope  to  the  inventive  faculty,  and  therefore  de- 
may  be  very  plausible :  its  injurious  effect  on  the  branch  of  education 
which  is  concerned  in  it,  is  obvious. 

So  indifferent  is  the  community,  as  yet,  to  this  important  part  of  edu- 
cation, that  when  Mr.  J.  E.  Murdoch,  the  most  accomplished  elocution- 
ist in  the  United  States,  made  the  most  arduous  efforts  to  estabUsh  a 
permanent  seminary  for  elocutionary  instruction,  his  exertions  met  with 
no  adequate  support  5  so  that,  after  presenting  to  the  city  of  Boston  one 
of  the  noblest  oppoitunities  ever  offered  for  oratorical  training,  he  has 
been  permitted  to  tranfer  his  admirable  talents  to  the  sphere  of  the  stage. 

The  youth  who  desires  the  benefit  of  culture  in  elocution,  must  rely  on 
his  own  diligence.  The  transient  and  imperfect  aid  to  which  our  litera- 
ry institutions  now  limit  him,  can  effect  but  little.  To  communities  such 
as  ours,  in  which  public  speaking  is  so  frequently  the  indispensable  duty 
of  individuals,  an  ample  provision  for  instruction  in  the  art  of  elocution, 
might  be  justly  expected  to  exist.  But  its  absence  necessarily  devolves 
on  students  individually  the  greater  exertion,  in  self-culture. 


40 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


mands  a  new  power  of  utterance.  Fidelity  to  the  duty  of 
self-cultivation,  requires  of  the  student  that  he  wrestle  for  the 
noblest  achievements  of  self-mastery,  in  the  acquisition  of 
that  power  by  which  his  organic  constitution  may  become  the 
worthy  minister  of  his  mind,  and  yield  it  a  free  and  adequate 
utterance  to  others,  of  whatever  sheds  light  on  his  own  path, 
or  imparts  a  new  throb  of  life  to  his  own  heart.  But  the  ob- 
ligation becomes  inexpressibly  enhanced,  when  we  transfer 
it  to  the  highest  subjects  of  thought,  and  the  purest  move- 
ments of  benevolent  feeling. 

It  is  among  the  ordinations  of  Infinite  wisdom,  that,  of  all 
parts  of  man's  organic  structure,  those  which  are  employed 
in  the  functions  of  voice,  are  the  most  susceptible  of  culture 
and  discipline.  Look  at  the  difference  between  the  tune- 
hummings  of  the  little  boy,  and  the  wonderful  and  impres- 
sive execution  of  the  consummate  vocalist.  A  similar  transi- 
tion may  be  made  in  speech,  by  every  human  being  who  has 
sufficient  force  and  steadfastness  of  will  to  insure  the  requi- 
site diligence  in  practice. 

The  sense  of  duty,  applied  in  this  direction,  will  work  its 
wonted  wonders ;  and  every  day's  observation  furnishes  to 
the  elocutionist  the  most  striking  examples  of  individuals 
commencing  a  course  of  self-culture,  under  immense  disad- 
vantages of  neglected  habit  and  false  training,  yet  achieving, 
within  a  few  months,  a  complete  triumph  over  all  such  ob- 
stacles, and  becoming  animated,  correct,  and  impressive 
speakers. 

The  claims  of  liberal  education,  on  all  who  have  enjoyed 
its  benefits,  seem  to  demand  the  perceptible  fruits  of  mental 
culture  in  the  student's  acts  of  communication  with  his  fellow- 
men.  Rudeness  of  speech  is  a  venial  thing  in  the  uneduca- 
ted ;  but  it  is  utterly  unjustifiable  in  those  who  sustain  to 
general  society  the  weighty  responsibilities  which  rest  upon 
the  scholar.  To  him  who  enjoys  the  stores  of  mental  wealth. 
Humanity  says,  *  Be  not  a  niggard  of  thy  wealth  :  be  not  a 
niggard  of  thy  speech,  which  may  impart  that  wealth,  without 
impoverishmg  thyself.' 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  41 

To  the  occupant  of  the  pulpit,  the  beseeching  voices  of  ig- 
norance, of  suffering,  of  degradation,  all  are  lifted  up,  plead- 
ing for  light,  for  sympathy,  for  renovation,  in  tones  that 
would  seem  to  make  man  desire  the  possession  of  angehc 
powers  to  put  forth  on  their  behalf.  The  offer  of  aid  comes, 
too  generally,  from  a  voice  that, — as  far  as  the  music  of  emo- 
tion is  concerned, — bespeaks  heartless  indifference,  listless 
apathy,  utter  inability  to  assist,  or  entire  ignorance  of  the 
facts  of  the  case. 

Aside  from  such  considerations,  however,  the  importance 
of  culture  and  skill  in  address,  as  an  indispensable  qualifica- 
tion for  the  right  discharge  of  the  public  duties  of  the  profes- 
sion, is  a  subject  which,  at  present,  demands  the  earnest  at- 
tention of  students  of  theology.  The  public  voice  is  loud 
and  urgent  on  this  point :  the  dissatisfaction  with  the  deplo- 
rable deficiencies  of  manner  which  are  so  prevalent  in  the 
pulpit,  is  uttered  with  no  sparing  tone.  Students,  if  they 
mingled  more  at  large  with  the  world,  would  hear  expressions 
on  this  subject,  which  might  well  startle  them.  It  is  a  gen- 
eral complaint,  among  congregations  of  every  denomination, 
that  the  style  of  pulpit  elocution  is  miserably  low  and  defec- 
tive. To  hear  a  sermon  is  not  unfrequently  spoken  of  as  a 
matter  of  endurance,  on  the  score  of  manner.  It  is  not  tran- 
scending the  strictest  limit  of  truth,  on  this  subject,  to  say 
that  society  has  become  impatient  and  clamorous  in  regard 
to  it.  Elocutionists  are  well  aware  of  the  fact,  that  not  a  few 
religious  societies,  in  various  denominations,  request  of  their 
ministers  to  put  themselves  under  training,  with  a  view  to 
the  remedy  of  defects  of  manner,  which  are  so  great  as  to 
prove  obstacles  to  professional  usefulness. 

The  desecrating  effects  of  the  practice,  so  frequent  in 
American  churches,  of  dismissing  incumbents  from  their 
charge,  are,  in  very  many  instances,  to  be  traced  to  an  unin- 
teresting and  unimpressive  manner  of  preaching,  as  their 
original  source.  Of  a  hundred  dismissions,  not  one  can  usual- 
ly be  found  to  have  happened  in  the  case  of  an  earnest  and 
eloquent  preacher.  No  congregation  considers  itself  as  ex- 
4.* 


4^  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

cepting  the  item  of  qualification  for  the  pulpit,  in  their  stipu- 
lations with  the  individual  whom  they  receive  as  their  pas- 
tor ;  and  it  is  a,  prevalent  impression,  that  no  society  can 
flourish  under  the  charge  of  one  who  is  an  indifferent  speak- 
er. The  world  assumes  due  preparation  for  the  duties  of  the 
pulpit,  as  a  part  of  professional  education.  But,  of  all  the 
theological  institutions  in  the  United  States,  there  is  not  per- 
haps, one,  which,  by  adequate  arrangements  to  that  effect, 
enables  its  students  to  receive  the  benefit  of  an  express  course 
of  training  in  the  art  of  speaking.*  The  mere  opportunity 
of  declaiming  in  turn,  or  some  other  expedient  not  more  effi- 
•cacious,  is  all  that  is  usually  enjoyed  by  way  of  preparation 
for  one  of  the  most  important  acts  that  man  can  be  called  to 
perform  in  presence  of  his  fellow-men.  Theologians  have 
slumbered  over  this  great  question :  and  the  result  is  just 
what  might  be  expected.  The  duties  of  the  pulpit  are,  for 
the  most  part,  miserably  performed ;  and  the  church  and  the 
"World  have  to  abide  the  ^consequences.  Nor  can  the  fact 
<;ease  to  be  otherwise,  while  it  is  the  fixed  custom,  at  profes- 
sional institutions,  to  devolve  on  one  man  the  unreasonable 
load  of  labour  inseparable  from  the  double  duty  of  teaching 
students  to  speak,  as  well  as  to  write. 

But,  say  some,  why  make  so  much  of  this  affair  of  exter- 
nal manner  ?  Admitting  that  a  persuasive  speaker  always 
wins  us,  that  an  earnest  one  impresses  us,  and  that  a  dull  one 
wearies  us, — why  go  through  a  long  course  of  discipline  to 
arrive  at  an  earnest  or  a  persuasive  style  of  speaking  ?  Does 

*  A  similar  deficiency,  as  to  instruction  and  practice  in  elocution,  ex- 
ists in  most  of  our  universities.  Harvard,  the  wealthiest  of  them  all,  is 
unable  to  afford  her  students  the  benefit  of  adequate  aid  in  this  depart- 
ment. The  miserable  arrangement  of  mingling  the  duty  of  hearing  De- 
clamation with  that  of  attending  to  recitations  in  History  and  Political 
Economy,  is  all  that  this  ancient  and  venerable  institution  is  yet  able  to 
effect,  in  the  way  of  providing  instruction  in  the  strictly  useful  art  of 
speaking.  The  present  incumbent  who  has  charge  of  the  laborious  duty 
in  question,  does  all  that  taste  and  talent  can  effect  in  such  circum- 
stances. But  the  load  of  exertion  imposed,  in  his  case,  is  more  than  any 
one  man  can  sustain. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  43 

it  not  all  depend  on  earnest  feeling  or  affectionate  interest  ? 
Is  anything  more  than  earnestness  or  warmth  required,  to 
produce  this  effect  ?  If  a  man  really  is  in  earnest,  he  must 
make  people  feel ;  it  cannot  be  otherwise. 

So  argues  the  merchant,  who,  never  in  his  life,  perhaps, 
wrote  twenty  pages  of  consecutive  thought  which  he  after- 
wards read  or  spoke  in  a  public  assembly ;  so  argues,  some- 
times, the  lawyer,  who,  in  his  busy  life,  is  mingling  continu- 
ally with  men  in  practical  affairs,  exciting  and  excited  by  the 
usual  stimulants  to  communication, — interest,  argument,  pro- 
fessional repute ;  but  who  seldom  has  been  subjected  to  the 
discipline  of  successive  days  of  seclusion,  and  silence,  and 
profound  meditation  on  a  vast  theme,  and  then  called  from 
this  life-queliing  process  to  the  life-exhausting  one  of  public 
speaking,  once  a  week, — three  times,  perhaps,  on  the  same 
day, — on  themes  which,  by  their  very  depth  and  solemnity, 
exhaust  the  cerebral  and  nervous  systems,  and,  by  the  deep 
tones  which  they  naturally  require,  equally  exhaust  the  pow- 
ers of  utterance. 

The  vicissitude  which  the  clergyman  is  called  to  undergo, 
in  passing  from  the  process  of  the  study  to  that  of  the  pulpit, 
is  one  in  which  he  makes  an  instantaneous  transition  from 
the  sedentary  and  passive  habits  of  the  student,  to  the  active 
and  energetic  exertions  of  the  public  speaker.  The  seclusion 
and  stillness  of  the  week,  and  the  intensity  of  his  daily  men- 
tal action,  have  disqualified  him,  corporeally,  for  the  function 
of  vigorous  and  impressive  utterance,  on  the  broad  scale  of 
regular  public  address.  To  him  the  act  of  professional  speak- 
ing,— or  still  more,  that  of  professional  reading, — is  peculiar- 
ly exhausting.  Hence  he  is  more  frequently  subjected  to  an 
impaired  state  of  health,  than  one  who,  like  the  barrister,  is 
less  confined  to  the  act  of  intense  thought.  To  him  it  is 
doubly  important  that  he  should  know  how  to  use  his  voice 
skilfully, — effectively  to  others,  and  yet  with  ease  to  himself. 
The  sedentary  form  of  life  to  which  he  must  ever  be  closely 
limited  by  the  nature  of  his  professional  preparation,  exposes 


44  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

him,  peculiarly,  to  fatigue  and  injury,  immediately  consequent 
on  the  act  of  speaking. 

To  speak  extemporaneously,  or  from  premeditation,  will, 
it  is  true,  exempt  the  preacher  from  many  of  the  peculiarly 
injurious  effects  of  his  mode  of  professional  life.  But  the 
prevalent  demand  of  society,  for  the  union  of  two  incompati- 
ble effects  in  pulpit  speaking, — that  of  a  carefully  elaborated 
written  discourse,  and  that, — at  the  same  time, — of  a  well- 
spoken  address,  devolves  on  him  a  double  share  both  of  in- 
tellectual and  of  corporeal  exertion.  To  give  his  sermon  the 
free  and  natural  effect  of  speaking,  he  must  either  lose  some- 
thing of  the  strict  rhetorical  character  of  his  style  of  compo- 
sition, in  consequence  of  withdrawing  his  eye  so  frequently 
from  his  manuscript  as  to  lose  the  details  of  his  written  ex- 
pression ;  or  he  must  come  into  the  pulpit,  prepared  by  so 
repeated  previous  reading  of  his  discourse,  that  it  is  virtually 
impressed  on  his  memory. 

The  practice  of  systematic  elocution,  is,  in  reference  to 
such  circumstances,  an  important  aid  to  facility  and  impres- 
sive manner  in  reading,  and  lightens  effectually  the  burden 
of  the  task  to  be  performed.  Nor  is  such  labour  light.  Few 
persons  who  have  not  made  the  experiment,  can  be  aware  of 
the  force  of  impression  on  the  mind,  or  of  the  degree  of  ac- 
tion in  brain  and  nerve,  which  is  necessary  to  produce  im- 
pressive reading  oloud,  in  the  space  usually  filled  by  the  voice 
of  the  preacher,  as  contrasted  with  that  which  is  experienced 
in  merely  receiving  the  ideas  of  an  author,  by  the  silent  read- 
ing of  the  page  of  a  book.  All  that  is  necessary,  in  the  lat- 
ter case,  is  merely  that  the  thought  be  passively  received  or 
felt, — up  to  the  extent  of  the  reader's  receptive  capacity  ;  in 
the  former,  the  measure  of  thought  and  emotion  must  not  on- 
ly be  full  but  overflowing ;  so  that  the  surplus,  as  it  were,  of 
feeling,  may  be  sufficient  to  carry  along,  in  its  tide,  the  sym- 
pathies of  a  whole  audience.  The  public  reader  not  only 
receives  but  imparts,  and,  as  it  were,  stamps  an  impression. 
This  active  state  of  sympathy  is  what  alone  can  convey  a 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  45 

sentiment  from  the  heart  of  the  reader  to  those  of  his 
hearers. 

The  practice  of  elocution  secures  the  power  of  producing 
such  effects  easily  and  without  fatigue.  It  serves,  also,  to 
render,  by  this  means,  the  function  of  public  speaking  a  salu- 
tary instead  of  an  exhausting  process.  It  invigorates  the 
organs,  and  secures  them  against  injury.  It  lightens  pro- 
fessional labour ;  it  tends  to  prolong  life  and  protect  health, 
while  it  secures  an  entire  control  over  the  voice,  and  makes 
it  a  ready  and  obedient  instrument  of  the  will. 

The  study  of  elocution  enables  the  speaker  to  give  life  and 
effect  to  every  sentiment  which  he  utters,  and  to  send  it 
home  to  the  heart.  It  gives  him  a  comparatively  unlimited 
control  over  the  attention  and  sympathies  of  those  whom  he 
addresses,  and  secures  to  what  he  utters  a  deep  and  perma- 
nent impression  on  the  mind ;  nor  is  it  a  slight  consideration 
that  it  enables  him  to  impart  to  all  his  utterance  the  attractions 
of  propriety  and  grace.  It  insures,  in  a  word,  the  whole  bene- 
fit resulting  from  eloquence  in  manner. 

All  that  the  elocutionist,  as  such,  pleads  for,  is,  that  the 
student  after  fifteen  years,  perhaps,  of  misdirected  practice  in 
reading,  would  give  but  the  vigorous  and  faithful  exertions 
of  one,  to  the  reformation  of  habit,  or,  at  least,  to  the  attempt 
at  reformation.  Half  an  hour,  diligently  employed,  twice  a 
day,  for  a  year,  on  the  rudiments  of  the  art,  would  usually 
suffice  for  the  removal  of  prominent  faults,  and  for  the  acqui- 
sition of  the  most  important  traits  of  a  good  elocution. 

The  student  of  theology,  who  has  yet  the  susceptibility  of 
youthful  life  upon  him,  and  the  leisure  to  cultivate  his  pow- 
ers, and  form  his  manner,  and  who,  whether  from  self-suffi- 
ciency, or  ignorance,  or  indolence,  or  diffidence,  deliberately 
prefers  to  neglect  the  consecration  of  his  active  nature,  in  its 
highest  capabilities  of  excellence,  to  the  function  which  he 
means  to  assume, — the  elocutionist  may  well  despair  of  mov- 
ing by  any  argument  which  he  can  offer.  The  passive  and 
lethargic  pastor,  who  has  given  himself  to  his  people,  *  for 
better,  for  worse,'  and  to  whom  the  calling,  visiting,  and  mis- 


46  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

cellaneous  jobbing  of  his  vocation,  are  sufficient  excuses  for 
neglecting  its  nobler  offices, — is  still  farther  removed  from 
any  influence  of  persuasion.  But  to  both  the  teacher  of  elo- 
cution may  be  allowed  to  say,  '  Look  on  this  picture  and  on 
this,' — the  uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  speaker  in  the 
pulpit. 

The  former  may,  by  no  very  improbable  combination  of 
chances,  happen  to  exemplify  all  the  following  faults.  He 
may  have  a  had  voice.  The  screech  of  his  excited  tones 
may  absolutely  harrow  the  ear ;  he  may  have  the  gruflf  voice 
of  the  skipper  of  a  smuggling  lugger,  or  a  hard  guttural  ut- 
terance, with  tones  which  are  little  short  of  a  continuous  as- 
sault and  battery  on  the  ear ;  he  may  have  the  soft  guttural 
tone  of  a  voice  choked  in  the  throat,  as  if  every  sound  came 
from  the  gullet ;  he  may  have  a  uniform  nasal  twang,  so 
strong  as  to  provoke  laughter ;  or  he  may  have  a  thin,  weak 
voice,  with  a  high  piping  note,  which,  when  applied  to  the 
solemn  language  of  deep  feeling,  creates  a  ludicrous  incon- 
gruity. But  how  is  he  to  become  aware  of  such  faults  ? 
Habit  has  made  the  sound  of  his  voice  natural  and  true  to  his 
ear.     Culture  alone  can  correct  such  faults.* 

The  preacher,  who  neglects  the  cultivation  of  his  voice,  suf- 
fers, sometimes,  to  a  peculiar  extent,  the  penalties  of  violated 
laws  of  organization.  His  vocal  organs  are  the  instruments 
of  his  professional  action  and  usefulness ;  yet  he  not  only 
omits  the  use  of  the  only  means  of  invigorating  them,  but  em- 
ploys them,  perhaps,  at  the  greatest  disadvantage,  from  want 
of  knowledge  and  skill  in  regard  to  the  appropriate  mode  of 
exerting  them,  so  as  to  avoid  fatigue  and  exhaustion,  and 
consequent  loss  of  health.     Individuals  in  this  predicament 

*  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that,  in  many  parts  of  the  United  States, 
humanizing  culture  takes  so  little  effect  on  outward  manner,  and  that, 
in  New  England,  particularly,  a  round,  smooth,  agi-ecable  voice,  is  not 
invariably  the  characteristic  of  mental  culture  and  polish.  The  absence 
of  natural  and  acquired  refinement,  is  unequivocally  indicated  in  the 
hideous  tones  of  voice  which  are  not  unfrequently  heard  from  the  pulpit. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  47 

sink,  perhaps,  even  in  early  life,  under  the  effects  of  their  de- 
structive habits  in  the  use  of  the  vocal  organs. 

The  uncultivated  speaker  sometimes  renders  himself  dis- 
agreeable by  his  habitual  violations  of  propriety  and  taste,  his 
obvious  slovenliness  of  style,  or  want  of  appropriate  educa- 
tion, as  regards  the  humble  and  merely  rudimental  attain- 
ment of  correct  pronunciation.*  He  may  even  fail  in  re- 
spect of  a  distinct  articulation  of  syllables  and  sounds,  so  far 
as  to  obscure  the  sense  of  whatever  he  utters,  or  even  to 
render  him  unintelligible.  But  of  these  evils  he  is  unaware ; 
he  has  not  been  accustomed  to  watch  his  own  habits ;  he  is, 
in  this  particular,  the  helpless  victim  of  circumstances,  which 
have  moulded  him,  unconsciously  to  himself,  into  the  grossest 
errors.  An  hour's  practice  with  an  elocutionist,  would  put 
it  in  his  power  to  correct  these  faults  in  a  few  weeks,  and  to 
substitute  for  his  errors  a  chaste  and  correct  manner  of  pro- 
nouncing, and  for  his  hurried,  confused  utterance  an  accurate, 
clear,  distinct  enunciation. 

The  undisciplined  speaker  frequently  exhibits  a  displeasing 
loudness  or  violence  of  voice,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  a  faint 
and  feeble  utterance,  which  does  not  allow  him  to  be  heard. 
He  may  have  a  uniform  bawling  or  calling  force,  which  in- 
dicates no  variation  of  feeling,  no  softening  touch  of  subdued 
emotion  ;  or  he  may  have  nothing  of  that  force  which  imparts 
manly  energy  to  expression,  and  gives  impulse  to  the  heart. 
He  may  have,  perhaps,  that  uniform  medium  of  voice,  which 
never  swells  or  subsides  with  feeUng,  and  which  renders  his 

*  It  is  matter  of  regret,  that  this  subject  is  so  much  neglected  in  early 
education,  and  that  professional  men,  generally,  do  so  little  justice  to 
themselves  and  their  language,  by  the  numerous  improprieties  which  they 
habitually  exemplify  in  speech.  New  England,  more  particularly,  is 
marked  by  the  extensive  prevalence  of  local  faults,  in  this  respect ;  and 
most  of  these  are  owing  to  the  sanction  unfortunately  given  by  Dr. 
Webster  to  such  peculiarities.  An  obsolete  and  awkward  style  of  pro- 
nunciation, has  thus  gained  currency,  even  in  places  of  learning.  But 
many  of  Dr.  Webster's  modes  are,  at  least,  eighty  years  out  of  date,  for 
the  present  day ;  and  not  a  few  are  absolute  Scotticisms,  and  eiTors  of 
dialect,  pecuHar  to  Yorkshire  or  to  New  England. 


48  PTTLPIT  ELOCtTTlON. 

style  utterly  inexpressive  and  uninteresting.  He  has  never 
studied  the  working  of  nature  in  vocal  habit,  or  watched  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  utterance,  as  the  tide  of  emotion  gushes  forth, 
or  subsides,  in  the  voice.  The  rising  and  the  lulling  of  the 
wind,  seem  to  have  taught  his  ear  no  lesson.  But  to  all  such 
effects  cultivation  would  have  opened  his  ear  and  his  heart, 
and  imparted  their  power  to  his  utterance. 

The  skilful  emphasis  of  a  good  reader,  which  gives  to  the 
main  points  of  his  expression  a  sculptured  prominence,  and 
striking  force  of  effect,  the  unpractised  speaker  has  never  ob- 
served. He  gives  little  or  no  emphasis,  at  all ;  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  multiplies  and  crowds  his  emphatic  loords,  till 
his  indiscriminate  and  perpetually  recurring  force,  defeats  its 
object,  and  destroys  itself.  He  is  thus  compelled  to  give  a 
double  and  exaggerated  effect  to  all  his  actual  emphasis,  which 
makes  him  seem  to  be  addressing  an  audience  whose  facul- 
ties were  too  obtuse,  otherwise,  to  apprehend  his  meaning. 
He  may  even  go  so  far  with  this  habit  of  exaggeration  as  to 
make  all  his  distinctions  become  epigrams  in  sound,  and  his 
significant  expressions  each  one  a  pun,  by  its  overcharged 
tone  and  tortuous  circumflex.*  But  his  ear  has  never  been 
opened  to  the  discriminations  of  kind  and  degree,  in  emphasis  : 
he  has  never  brought  his  organs  under  the  influence  of  disci- 
pline, on  such  points  :  his  attention,  in  fact,  has  never  been 
turned  to  them.  No  wonder,  then,  that  his  emphasis  should 
be  so  often  exaggerated  and  disproportioned  ;  or  that  his  em- 
phatic words  should  sometimes  be  thrown  out  with  a  jerk  that 
would  seem  to  intimate  a  sudden  flash  of  impatience  or  ill 
temper,  rather  than  a  decisive  act  of  judgment.  Culture, 
however,  would  teach  such  a  speaker  to  chasten  his  force  by 
due  regard  to  moderation  and  dignity  of  manner,  and  to  di- 
rectness and  simplicity  of  expression. 

The  uncultivated  speaker  seems,  usually,  either  to  have 

*  The  intellectual  and  argumentative  tendencies  of  the  Scotch  and  of 
New  Englandcrs,  impart  this  schoolmaster's  tone  to  their  current  modes 
of  colloquial  emphasis,  and,  frequently,  to  their  characteristic  style  of 
reading  and  of  public  address. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  ELOCUTION.  49 

no  power  of  inflecting  his  voice,  so  that,  in  reading,  his  sen- 
tences run  on  with  the  flat  sameness  of  the  style  of  an  advertise- 
ment or  a  law-paper  ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  he  twitches  and 
jerks  his  words  with  perpetual  double  slides  and  circumflexes ^^ 
so  that  his  language  seems  to  become  a  succession  of  verbal  dis- 
tinctions, quirks,  or  quibbles,  instead  of  important  and  impres*-- 
sive  facts,  in  their  appropriate  tone.  This  fault  is  sufficient- 
ly ridiculous  to  ears  not  indurated  to  it,  by  the  effect  of  cus- 
tom. But  the  speaker  who  makes  it,  has  never  dreamed  of  its 
existence  in  his  personal  habits  ;  and  he  goes  on,  from  year 
to  year,  announcing  sacred  truths  in  the  tone  and  accent  of  a. 
series  of  sly  jokes.  The  effect  of  such  utterance,  when  added 
to  the  proverbial  coldness  and  stiffness  of  general  manner, 
current,  more  particularly,  in  the  pulpits  of  New  England,  is 
one  great  cause  of  the  avowed  dislike,  so  generally  expressed 
in  other  parts  of  the  country,  to  the  style  of  preachers  from 
that  quarter.  A  slight  attention  to  culture  would  suffice  to 
put  an  end  to  such  impediments  to  the  legitimate  influence  of 
the  pulpit. 

The  undisciplined  speaker  fails,  usually,  in  adequate  lengtlt 
of  pauses.  He  allows  no  opportunity  for  an  impressive 
thought  to  '  sink  down  into  the  ear,'  and  penetrate  the  heart;, 
he  hastens  on,  heedlessly,  over  the  most  momentous  thoughts, 
as  if  they  were  matters  of  indifference  ;  and  the  effects  which 
he  produces  on  his  hearers,  are  correspondent  to  his  style. 
Truth,  uttered  in  such  modes,  is  stripped  of  its  reality,  and 
leaves  the  soul  callous  to  its  power.  A  false  current  notion, 
that  the  elocution  of  the  pulpit  is  to  be  modelled  on  that  of 
the  bar,  or  the  popular  assembly,  induces  some  speakers  to 
imagine  that  eloquence  consists  in  fluency,  and  that  the  ac-^ 
ceptable  preacher  is  he  who  does  not  keep  his  people  waiting 
for  his  words,  but  glides  on,  on  the  '•  festina  lente'  principle, 
and  judiciously  shortens  the  duration  of  the  penance  of  listen- 

=*  Those  turns  of  voice,  which  Dr.  Rush,  in  his  analysis,  has  termed 
'  waves.'  This  style  forms  the  distinctive  vocal  effect  of  what  are  called 
'  Yankee  stories  ;'  yet  the  prevalence  of  local  habit  causes  it  to  be  fi-e- 
quently  heard  in  the  pulpit. 

5 


§9  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ing  to  a  sermon.*  A  moderate  attention  to  the  demands  of 
solemnity  and  impressiveness,  as  prominent  features  of  sacred 
eloquence,  would  guard  the  preacher  from  such  errors  of 
judgment  and  taste,  while  it  would  equally  save  him  and  his 
hearers  from  the  lagging  slowness  and  merciless  drawling, 
which  are  also  among  the  current  faults  of  pulpit  elocution. 

The  preacher  who  neglects  the  cultivation  of  his  voice, 
may  be  congratulating  himself  on  his  exemption  from  hollow 
and  artificial  tones,  which  lie  detects  in  others.  But  he  is, 
perhaps,  in  the  habit  of  using  a  high,  thin,  and  squeaking 
pitch,  which  forbids  the  possibility  of  grave,  deep,  or  solemn 
emotion,  on  the  part  of  his  hearers  ; — no  matter  how  reveren- 
tial the  unuttered  feeling  which  is,  all  the  while,  latent  in  the 
bosom  of  the  speaker. 

An  inevitable  law  of  our  constitution  demands  deep  tones 
in  the  utterance  of  solemn  emotions.  The  fireside  tone  is 
intolerable  in  the  pulpit ;  the  voice  of  familiar  anecdote,  sub- 
stituted for  that  of  grave  and  devout  discourse,  is  a  desecra- 
tion to  the  ear.  Yet  a  few  hours*  practice  would  enable  most 
speakers  to  draw  and  observe  the  line  which  separates  one 
pitch  of  voice  and  one  mode  of  feeling  from  another.  The 
preacher  would  thus  obey,  and  cooperate  with,  the  ordina- 
tions of  Creative  wisdom,  and  convert  his  voice  from  a  hin- 
drance into  an  effective  aid  to  the  purposes  of  his  oiRce. 

But  the  undisciplined  speaker  in  the  pulpit,  sometimes, — 
whether  from  inadvertence  or  erroneous  impression, — allows 
himself  to  fall  into  the  opposite  fault  of  a  hollow,  sepulchral, 
morbid  voice,  which  is  a  mere  matter  oF  habit,  and  bears  no 
relation  to  his  theme,  for  the  moment.  He  may  actually  be 
expatiating  on  the  joys  of  heaven,  with  a  voice  which  has 
precisely  the  pitch  of  the  ghost  in  Hamlet,  when  describing 
the  horrors  of  hell.  The  etfect  of  such  intonation  usually  is 
to  make  the  ministrations  of  the  pulpit  associate  themselves, 
in  the  feelings  of  an  audience,  with  a  condition  of  gloom  and 
repugnance.     Were  the  themes  of  pulpit  eloquence  such  as 

*  This  false  style  of  swiftness  of  utterance,  is  a  prevalent  trait  of  pul- 
pit elocution  iu  the  city  of  New  York. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  Sf- 

never  admitted  strains  of  animation,  cheerfulness,  and  delight, 
— were  love  and  joy  necessarily  debarred  from  the  circle  of 
sacred  emotions, — the  uniformly  hollow,  heavy  voice  of  awe 
and  horror,  might  be  appropriate,  as  a  characteristic  of  pro-' 
fessional  elocution.  But  on  no  other  condition  can  it  be  so. 
Yet  how  often  is  this  burden  of  preternatural  pitch  laid  upon 
the  sensibility  of  an  audience,  by  the  uncultivated  voice  of 
the  preacher ! 

Fitness  and  beauty  are  the  universal  characteristics  of  or- 
ganization, in  all  the  works  of  God.  The  very  analogies  of 
man's  constitution,  predispose  him  to  repeat  these  traits  in  all 
his  humbler  sphere  of  creation  and  effect.  His  nature  thirsts 
for  these,  in  every  act  of  mind  or  body.  But  if  false  taste 
and  erroneous  habit  usurp  the  control  of  the  forming  proces- 
ses of  education,  the  natural  tendencies  of  mind  are  checked  ; 
the  soul  becomes  callous ;  the  eye  becomes  blind,  and  the 
ear  deaf  to  propriety  and  grace.  Perversion  and  evil,  in 
every  variety  of  shape,  are  the  result.  The  mind  ceases  to 
perceive,  the  organs  cease  to  execute  their  original  purpose. 
Deformity  is  adopted  as  the  model  of  grace ;  habit  imbibes 
the  influence,  and  breathes  the  air,  which  custom  has  prescri- 
bed. Vitiated  habit  and  depraved  taste  go  hand  in  hand,  in 
the  work  of  desecration  and  corruption. 

The  current  style  of  elocution,  in  the  pulpit,  forms  a  strik- 
ing example  of  this  downward  tendency  of  mind  and  manner. 
The  beautiful  and  wondrous  adaptation  of  the  human  voice 
to  the  varied  functions  of  expressive  utterance,  is  clearly  ex- 
hibited in  the  vivid  and  eloquent  tones  of  childhood.  It  forms 
a  most  exquisite  page  in  the  poetry  of  man's  life.  But  neg- 
lect and  perversion  commence, — as  formerly  mentioned, — 
with  the  processes  of  artificial  culture  ;  and  power  and  grace 
of  expressive  tone  gradually  die  out ;  so  that  the  man,  in  his 
maturity,  has  lost  the  faculty  of  adapting  voice  to  feeling, 
which  he  possessed  in  his  earliest  years.  Not  only  so  :  he 
has  acquired  mechanical  and/a/se  habits  of  tone,  which  bury 
rather  than  give  forth  emotion.  Of  a  hundred  persons  whom 
you  may  ask  to  read  a  vivid  passage  from  the  most  natural 


0£  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

of  all  writers,  Shakspeare,  not  one,  perhaps,  can  give  the 
genuine  tones  of  feeling  to  what  he  attempts  to  read.  To 
do  such  a  thing,  is  in  fact,  commonly  thought  to  be  the  exer- 
cise of  an  art  possessed  only  by  an  actor  or  an  elocutionist, — 
one  who  has  made  an  express  business  of  acquiring  the  vivid 
tones  of  emotion. 

The  same  experiment  of  reading  may  be  made  with  the 
Bible,  or  the  hymn  book,  or  with  a  page  of  a  sermon ;  and  the 
result  will,  for  the  most  part,  be,  that  neither  layman  nor 
clergyman  utters  any  tone  of  feeling  with  its  true  and  appro- 
priate character.  The  agonies  and  the  ecstasies  of  the 
Psalmist,  will,  usually,  be  read  with  the  tones  of  perfect  de- 
corum in  a  modern  gentleman  ;  the  seraphic  ardours  of  Watts 
will  be  uttered  with  the  coolest  composure ;  and  the  sermon 
will  be  read  as  if  the  ideas  of  God,  of  heaven,  and  of  hell, 
were  things  to  which  the  human  heart  had  acquired  a  com- 
fortable indifference. 

The  uncultivated  reader  in  the  pulpit,  thus  nullifies,  to  the 
ear,  whatever  may  be  in  his  heart ;  and  what  was  meant  to 
pierce  the  inmost  soul,  '  plays  harmless  round  the  head.'  The 
voice  of  the  preacher,  which  ought  to  be  the  living  link  of 
connection  between  earth  and  Heaven,  becomes  a  most  effec- 
tual non-conductor.  The  immense  power  which  lies  wrapped 
up  in  the  human  voice,  and  which  is  only  transcended  by  that 
of  the  soul  itself,  the  negligent  speaker  has  left  dormant,  till 
he  has  lost  faith  in  its  existence,  and  actually  regards  the  en- 
deavour to  arouse  it  as  on  a  par  with  the  infatuated  search 
for  imaginary  lost  treasure. 

Never,  from  his  lips,  shall  come  the  startling  or  the  thrill- 
ing note  of  warning  to  the  slumbering  spirit ;  the  tone  that 
makes  a  Felix  tremble  at  the  fearful  possibilities  of  retribu- 
tion ;  the  voice  that  can  melt  the  obdurate  heart  to  tears  of 
contrition;  the  words  that  can  inspire  the  despondent  or 
soothe  the  sorrowing  soul,  or  *  stir  the  blood  like  the  sound  of 
a  trumpet,'  while  it  summons  to  '  glory,  honour,  and  immor- 
tality.' 

To  the  uncultivated  speaker,  the  natural  avenues  of  the 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  53 

heart,  the  modes  of  sympathetic  tone,  are,  comparatively,  shut. 
His  feelings  may  be  strong  and  deep  ;  but  he  knows  not  how- 
to  give  them  effective  utterance.  He  is  powerless  from  want 
of  practice.  His  voice,  the  appointed  organ  of  communica- 
tion with  the  soul,  has  become  virtually  dead.  It  might  have 
been  an  instrument  of  electric  effect ;  but  he  has  chosen  to 
let  it  rust  unused.  His  voice,  however,  is  but  what  the  hand 
of  Angelo  would  have  been,  undisciplined,  uninspired  by  his 
soul, — a  mass  of  bone,  flesh,  ligament,  and  skin,  as  that  of 
the  labourer  in  the  quarry, — not  that  wondrous  instrument, 
which  more  than  any  other  production  of  Divine  skill,  has 
shown  how  *  fearfully  and  wonderfully'  the  members  of  the 
human  frame  are  formed,  in  adaptation  to  the  purposes  and 
capacities  of  the  soul. 

The  preacher  who  neglects  the  cultivation  of  his  organs, 
usually  subjects  himself  to  a  whole  host  of  disadvantages,  dis- 
tinct from  those  which  are  connected  with  the  unskilful  use 
of  the  voice.  He  offends  the  eye,  by  violating  the  natural 
laws  of  posture  and  motion,  which  regulate  the  human  frame. 

Man's  body  was  designed  to  depict  his  emotions,  by  its 
sympathetic  cooperation  with  his  mind.  But  the  preacher 
has  listened  to  the  prevailing  cant  around  him,  about  attitude 
and  gesticulation,  and  has  neglected  the  natural  use  of  his 
bodily  members,  as  expressive  agents ;  so  that  he  has  lost 
the  power  of  using  them,  and  even  a  natural,  momentary  ex- 
ertion of  them,  has  become,  to  him,  a  conscious  effort.  In 
the  unperverted  years  of  childhood,  his  soul  beamed  forth  in 
every  posture,  and  in  every  action  ;  his  very  frame  radiated 
emotion,  and  invested  itself  with  the  powers  of  a  spiritual 
presence.  Such  is  man's  natural  condition.  But  education 
steps  in,  and  imposes  on  his  body  the  same  train  of  evils 
which  it  inflicted  on  his  voice.  It  quenches  the  light,  and 
steals  away  the  warmth  of  his  being,  and  moulds  his  suscep- 
tible nature  into  low  and  arbitrary  forms,  either  inevitable  or 
actually  prescribed.  The  informing  spirit  withdraws  itself 
from  its  original  resort  to  the  exterior  frame,  and  ceases  to  ac^ 
tuate  it :  the  bodily  organs  are  soon  usurped  by  routine  and 
5* 


54 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


mechanism  :  constraint,  coldness,  rigidity,  reserve,  embarrass- 
ment, and  awkwardness,  take  the  place  of  freedom,  warmth 
and  life  ;  a  hard,  dry,  narrow,  angular,  mechanical  gesticula- 
tion displaces  the  natural,  free,  flowing  action  which  sprung 
directly  from  feeling.  Artificial  cultivation  confirms  all  these 
faults  into  habits ;  judgment  ceases  to  recognize  the  true  and 
reject  the  false  ;  taste  becomes  assimilated  to  style,  and  learns 
4o  love  the  arbitrary  and  the  unnatural. 

The  professional  speaker  carries  into  the  sphere  of  the 
pulpit,  the  faults  which  mis-directed  education  has  made  a 
part  of  himself;  and  unless  he  is  willing  then  to  assume  the 
labour  of  reform  and  renovation,  he  cannot  produce,  in  his 
iperson  and  action,  any  just  effect  of  expression.  All  his 
traits  of  manner  must  be  conventional,  and,  for  every  pur- 
pQse  of  eloquence,  untrue,  and  ineffectual  or  injurious. 

A  few  weeks  of  assiduous  culture,  however,  would  remove 
the  impediments  which  artificial  habit  has  thus  accumulated, 
and  convert  the  awkward,  ungainly,  and  disagreeable  manner 
into  one  of  genuine  nature,  propriety,  freedom,  force,  and 
grace.* 

Our  sketch  of  the  usual  faults  of  the  uncultivated  speaker, 
has  been  so  extended  into  detail,  that  little  room  remains, — 
in  consistency  with  the  necessary  limits  of  this  volume, — to 
<3escribe  the  cultivated.  He  may  be  pictured,  however,  in 
imagination,  as  the  reverse  of  the  former,  in  every  point. 
The  few  individuals  who,  as  yet,  have  devoted  their  atten- 
tion to  the  inevitable  effects  of  manner  in  the  pulpit,  are  easi- 
ly distinguished  :  they  speak  with  freedom,  with  earnestness 
and  fervour,  with  impressive  power,  with  manly  force,  with 
chaste  propriety,  with  attractive  grace.  There  is  a  living 
reality,  a  glowing  life,  in  their  utterance,  a  genuine  refine- 

♦  The  Rev.  Edward  Irving  was  an  impressive  example  of  the  effect 
of  cultivation  in  personal  manner  and  action.  In  his  early  professional 
efforts  in  Scotland,  he  exhibited  a  style  the  most  awkward,  constrained, 
and  unnatural,  that,  perhaps,  the  pulpit  ever  exhibited.  At  a  subsequent 
period,  in  London,  his  attitude  and  action  became,  by  assiduous  culture, 
most  strikingly  eloquent  in  their  efi'ect. 


IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  STUDY  OF  ELOCUTION.  55 

merit,  a  persuasive  eloquence  of  manner,  which  rivet  the  at- 
tention, and  command  the  whole  mind  and  heart.  They  ex- 
cel the  preacher  who  is  merely  an  eloquent  writer  or  compo- 
ser of  sermons,  as  much  as  the  orator  does  the  essayist.  In- 
tellectual force,  aided  by  scholarship  and  taste,  will  insure 
all  the  merits  of  the  latter.  But  assiduous  self-culture,  and 
resolute  practice,  in  special  and  appropriate  forms,  are  indis- 
pensable to  him  who  would  secure  the  power  of  the  former ; 
and  while  the  young  preacher  may  well  be  excused  from  the 
usurping  demands  on  time  and  labour,  indispensable  to  the 
attainments  of  a  consummate  orator,  no  unreasonable  amount 
of  exertion  is  required  to  make  him  an  effective  and  success- 
ful speaker,  or,  in  other  words,  to  enable  him  to  accomplish 
all  the  true  objects  of  oratory,  by  uttering  his  thoughts  ear- 
nestly, appropriately,  and  persuasively. 


THE   EFFECTS   OF   MANNER 


ELOCUTION  OF  THE  PULPIT. 


AMMATION  AND  DULLNESS. 

Communication  by  speech  and  action,  is  one  of  the  no- 
blest functions  of  man's  complex  nature.  It  is  the  product  of 
reason,  feeling,  and  imagination,  moulded  by  the  expression 
of  the  countenance,  the  attitude  of  the  body,  the  action  of  its 
members,  and  the  modifications  of  the  voice.  It  implies  the 
activity  of  the  whole  man,  in  the  unity  of  his  feeling.  It  is 
the  result  of  will ;  it  appeals  to  sympathy ;  it  is  invariably  a 
moral  act ;  it  recognizes  the  invisible  chain  which  links  man 
to  man  ;  it  involves  the  power  of  choice,  and  the  condition  of 
responsibility,  in  the  impartation  of  pleasure  or  of  pain ;  it 
evokes, — whether  by  violating  or  observing  its  decisions, — 
the  highest  power  within  the  human  breast, — conscience.  Its 
range  of  action  is  as  wide  as  the  capacities  of  man  ;  it  utters 
his  conceptions  of  the  universe  and  its  Author,  and  the  feel- 
ings to  which  these  give  origin  ;  it  gives  language,  also,  to 
the  humblest  of  his  own  daily  wants,  or  the  slightest  of  his 
transient  emotions.  It  compasses  the  stars,  and  defines  the 
minutest  particle  of  dust ;  it  breathes  the  winning  tones,  and 
wears  the  inviting  aspect  of  love ;  or  it  utters  the  accents 
and  assumes  the  attitude  of  destructive  hate.  Its  forms  and 
modes  are  as  vaiious,  therefore,  as  its  sources,  its  subjects, 
and  its  objects. 


ANIMATION  AND  DULLNESS.  57 

Regarded,  however,  as  an  act  which  is  the  result  of  will,  it 
always  implies  life,  spiritual  and  animal.  Death  seals,  irrevo- 
cably, the  lips  of  man ;  despair,  despondency,  dejection,  dis- 
ease, exhaustion,  languor,  may  close  them,  for  a  time.  But 
the  natural  renovation  of  life,  by  joy  or  by  repose,  revives  the 
law  of  sympathy  and  communication  :  animation  prompts  to 
speech  and  action.  So  uniform  is  this  effect,  that  silence  and 
reserve,  in  man,  are  recognized  as  the  indications  of  illness, 
displeasure,  depression,  gloom,  or  dissatisfaction.  The  taci- 
turn individual,  in  society,  seems  morose,  dispirited,  or  timid. 

It  is  a  law  of  expression,  therefore,  in  accordance  with 
these  facts,  that  life  and  animation  are  conditions  of  speech, 
both  as  regards  the  language  of  audible  utterance,  and  that 
which  exists,  to  the  eye,  in  the  attitudes  and  actions  of  the 
body.  Conversation,  destitute  of  the  inspiring  effect  of  ani- 
mation, becomes  dull  and  tedious,  while  the  spirited  inter- 
change of  thought  is  one  of  the  purest  sources  of  mental  and 
social  pleasure,  and,  at  the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  pow- 
erful springs  of  intellectual  action  and  development. 

So  it  is  in  regard  to  the  premeditated  and  formal  commu- 
nications of  public  address.  Deprive  these  of  life,  on  their 
wonted  occasions, — and  the  prosing  technicalities  of  the  plea- 
der seem  but  a  heavy  burlesque  on  the  vaunted  connection 
between  law,  eloquence,  and  justice ;  the  *  popular'  orator, 
when  dull,  immediately  becomes  wwpopular, — or,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Dogberry,  *  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured.' 
Can  the  preacher  who  drones  and  drawls,  and  stands  motion- 
less and  lifeless  in  the  pulpit,  reasonably  hope  to  be  exempt 
from  the  influence  of  the  law  of  association  which  identifies 
dullness  with  stupidity  ? 

In  vain  does  he  plead  the  solemnity  of  his  themes,  the 
gravity  of  his  profession,  and  the  depth  of  tone,  and  the  se- 
dateness  of  manner  which  belong  to  these.  Profound  emo- 
tion and  decorous  action  are  not  dullness  :  they  are  a  genu- 
ine part  of  living  eloquence  on  great  subjects ;  they  are  the 
very  opposite  of  drawling,  lagging,  monotonous  utterance, 
unemphatic  expression,  and  lifeless,  automaton-like  gestures. 


W  PtJLPlT  ELOCUTION. 

Want  of  life  and  animation  in  the  preacher,  extends  itself, 
necessarily,  to  the  congregation.  Nothing  is  so  Mesmeric  in 
ks  influence  as  dullness.  The  lifeless  soporific  tone,  like  the 
droning  hum  of  the  bee,  lulls  the  sense  and  the  soul,  alike,  to 
slumber.  The  torpor  of  the  preacher  diffuses  itself  over  his 
audience  ;  and  his  own  somnolent  manner  is  soon  reflected  to 
him,  in  the  '  lack-lustre  eyes'  of  those  of  the  congregation, 
who,  in  such  circumstances,  can  any  longer  be  called  hearers. 

The  chief  source  of  dullness  in  the  pulpit,  is  no  doubt,  that 
want  of  tact  in  the  handling  of  a  subject,  which  makes  the 
great  themes  of  religion  commonplace  to  the  preacher  himself, 
and  therefore  to  his  audience.  Education,  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged, does  little  to  empower  the  preacher  to  breathe  fresh 
life  into  old  themes.  The  theologian  enters  upon  his  office,  but 
little  disciplined  in  that  free,  natural,  original,  and  inspiring 
use  of  his  faculties,  which  enables  the  poet  to  find  ever  new 
life  and  beauty  in  every  component  atom  of  the  creation,  and 
to  expatiate,  with  an  eloquence  which  we  feel  to  be  divine, 
on  the  common  light  and  air  of  heaven,  or  the  most  ordinary 
plant  by  the  wayside.  The  preacher  seems,  too  often,  to  be 
consciously  handling  trite  themes,  to  which  it  is  a  hopeless 
attempt  to  endeavour  to  impart  life  and  interest.  He  speaks, 
accordingly,  as  if  the  utmost  reach  of  his  ambition  were  to 
invest  dullness  with  a  tolerable  decency,  and  to  get  through 
the  routine  of  his  function,  in  the  best  way  he  can. 

The  power  of  taking  interesting,  impressive,  and  striking 
views  of  common  things,  implies,  unquestionably,  a  higher 
talent  than  mere  education  can  impart.  But  while  this  im- 
portant acquirement  remains,  as  at  present,  one  of  the  unat- 
tempted  prizes  of  diligence,  it  is  certain  that  the  obvious  and 
palpable  advantages  of  even  a  partial  cultivation,  are  entire- 
ly overlooked,  as  respects  the  express  training  of  preachers 
for  the  public  duties  of  their  office. 

It  surely  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that,  to  want  of  origi- 
nal power,  and  to  want  of  due  intellectual  discipline,  in  the 
occupants  of  the  pulpit,  there  should  invariably  be  added  an 


ANIMATION  AND  DULLNESS.  59 

utter  want  of  skill  in  expression,  as  regards  the  use  of  the 
voice,  and  the  appropriate  accompaniments  of  action. 

The  dull  and  lifeless  speaker  may  become  animated,  if  he 
will  resolutely  set  about  accomplishing  the  task.  The  train- 
ing prescribed  in  the  practice  of  elocution,  will  present  him 
with  subjects  of  exercise,  drawn  from  the  most  inspiriting 
passages  of  the  most  powerful  writers.  It  will  accustom  him 
to  glow  over  inspiring  themes.  It  will  show  him  the  natural 
modes  of  uttering  and  imparting  vivid  emotions.  It  will 
train  his  organs  to  lively  exertion.  It  will  invigorate  his 
tones,  enhance  his  emphasis,  sharpen  his  inflections,  enliven 
his  accents,  breathe  life  into  his  whole  expression,  mould  his 
frame  into  pliancy  and  eloquent  effect,  impel  his  arm,  kindle 
his  eye,  flush  his  cheek  with  genuine  emotion,  and  light  up 
his  whole  manner  with  a  feeling  which  radiates  from  within. 
All  men  are  thus  eloquent  in  childhood  :  all  who  have  the 
force  of  resolution  and  the  persevering  diligence  requisite  for 
the  endeavour,  may  recover  *  the  buried  talent.' 

The  style  of  the  pulpit,  while  it  requires,  in  common  with 
all  modes  of  expression,  the  due  animation  of  a  living  effect, 
forbids,  of  course,  that  mere  animal  vivacity  which  is  incom- 
patible with  dignity  and  sobriety  of  manner,  and  borders  on 
puerility  by  incessant  motion  and  gesticulation,  a  talkative 
style  of  utterance,  with  high  pitch,  unreserved  loudness,  rapid 
enunciation,  half-mimetic  tones,  abrupt  and  startling  varia- 
tions, grotesque  expression,  and  dramatic  attempts  at  humour. 

Original  and  eccentric  characters,  such  as  Rowland  Hill 
and  John  Campbell,  can  be  tolerated,  and  even  occasionally 
relished  for  their  native  buoyancy  of  spirits :  their  exuber- 
ance of  action  and  expression,  even  when  it  violates  deco- 
rum, is  pardoned,  in  consideration  of  the  striking  effect  which, 
for  the  moment,  it  imparts  to  a  thought  usually  uttered  and 
received  in  a  languid  and  passive  mood.  But  mere  animal 
spirits,  in  a  speaker,  without  the  depth  and  original  force  of 
such  men,  serve  only  to  discompose  and  annoy  the  mind  of 
the  hearer  who  desires  grave  and  impressive  instruction  on 
momentous  subjects. 


ifJO  PtJLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

To  acquire  expressive  power  of  voice  and  manner,  the 
process  is  the  same  which  the  judicious  artist  adopts.  Study 
nature  deeply  and  intensely,  till  you  imbibe  its  beauty,  its 
freshness,  and  its  power :  devote  ample  time  to  the  cultivation 
of  a  relish  for  genuine  art,  in  all  its  varied  forms  ; — for  all 
the  fine  arts  are  but  modifications  of  the  one  great  art  of  ex- 
pression. Above  all,  imbue  your  mind  with  the  spirit  of  po- 
etry, by  the  habitual  studious  reading  of  the  works  of  the 
master  spirits  of  our  vernacular  literature.  Study,  especially, 
the  dramatists, — read  them  diligently  aloud,  with  full  force  of 
feeling, — as  a  matter  of  professional  culture  and  self-training  ; 
and  the  ear  will  inevitably  open  to  the  impressions  of  living 
emotion  in  tone  and  action  ;  every  expressive  trait  in  your 
own  mental  character  will  thus  be  quickened,  and  the  power 
of  penetrating  the  heart  and  swaying  the  sympathies  of  oth- 
ers, be  acquired, — to  an  indefinite  extent. 

Could  the  young  preacher  be  but  induced  to  bestow  a  tithe 
of  the  labour  which  is  bestowed  by  the  young  player,  on  the 
acquisition  of  a  vivid  and  expressive  manner,  in  word  and 
act,  every  pulpit  might  become  comparatively  a  station  for 
transmitting  and  diffusing  the  electric  influence  of  a  speaker 
inspired, — soul  and  body, — by  divine  truth. 


EARNESTNESS  AND  APATHY. 

The  mere  vividness  of  an  emotion  may  lead  to  animated 
expression,  in  countenance,  voice,  and  action.  Such  a  result 
may  be  unconscious  and  even  unintentional,  as  is  evinced  in 
the  natural  communications  of  childhood. 

But  of  the  deliberate  and  voluntary  speaker,  who  has  a 
definite  aim  in  utterance,  we  expect  more  than  mere  vivacity. 
The  orator, — and  such,  for  the  time,  is  the  minister  in  the 
pulpit, — has  a  grave  purpose  to  accomplish, — a  specific  end 
in  view,  toward  which  his  own  mind  is  impelled,  and  to- 
ward which  he  wishes  to  conduct  the  minds  of  his  hearers. 


EARNESTNESS  AND  APATHY.  61 

He  has  within  him  a  deep-felt  emotion,  which  he  wishes  to 
impart  to  the  hearts  of  others.  He  is  earnestly  desirous  to 
impress  the  pervading  sentiment  of  his  own  soul  on  the  sym- 
pathies of  his  audience.  He  calls  imagination  to  his  aid,  to 
give  form  to  his  idea  and  figure  to  his  language.  He  reasons, 
he  argues,  he  persuades,  he  awes,  he  impels,  he  entreats,  he 
warns,  he  threatens,  he  exhorts,  he  melts,  he  terrifies,  he 
arouses,  he  subdues,  he  wins.  His  success  is  the  reward  of 
his  earnest  desire  to  compass  his  object.  His  triumph  has 
been  achieved,  undoubtedly,  by  intellectual  force  appropriate- 
ly directed, — but  through  what  means  ?  His  glowing  and 
irresistible  eloquence  was  not  a  mere  affair  of  the  brain  and 
the  pen.  These  instruments  have  done  their  work  well.  But 
what  would  have  been  their  effect  without  the  aid  of  the  liv^ 
ing  tongue  and  the  expressive  action  ?  What  gave  the 
thoughts  of  the  speaker  an  entrance  to  the  heart,  was  not 
merely  their  intellectual  life  and  power,  or  their  ideal  beauty, 
but  the  earnestness  of  his  tone,  look,  and  gesture. 

The  diffidence  or  the  lethargic  indifference  of  some  preach- 
ers, cuts  them  off  from  all  such  effects.  They  may  feel  what 
they  say ;  but  they  speak  as  though  they  felt  it  not.  The 
earnest  pleader  might  justly  seem  to  say  of  them,  in  the  ex- 
pressive words  of  the  great  dramatist,  *  Their  words  come 
from  their  lips, — ours  from  our  breast.'  Their  own  souls  are 
not  apparently  aroused  by  what  they  utter ;  and  how  can  it 
be  expected  that  they  should  awaken  others  ?  If  the  preach- 
er's tone  is,  in  such  cases,  any  index  to  his  heart,  he  is  in- 
different as  to  the  result.  It  may  be,  indeed,  that  he  is  one 
of  those  who  disapprove  of  much  emotion  in  the  pulpit,  and 
that  he  is  an  advocate  of  calm  dignity,  and  manly  reserve  of 
manner.  His  Stoic  exterior  is  not  to  be  disturbed  by  vehe- 
mence or  excitement ;  and  the  slumbering  soul  is  therefore  to 
be  left  to  its  fatal  lethargy. 

But  the  fault  of  apparent  apathy  in  the  preacher,  is  more 

frequently  owing  to  the  absence  of  expressive  facility.     It 

sometimes,  indeed,  is  caused  by  a  depth  of  inward  feeling 

which  in  vain  struggles  for  utterance  through  undisciplined 

6 


^%  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

and  unpractised  organs.  The  suppressed  and  choking  voice 
sometimes,  in  these  circumstances,  discloses,  to  the  attentive 
ear,  the  true  nature  of  the  hinderance.  But  from  whatever 
source  it  springs,  the  fault  of  inexpressive  utterance  belies 
the  truths  which  fall  from  the  lips,  and  which  should  pierce 
the  heart  with  the  thrill  of  intense  emotion. 

Earnestness  is  the  natural  language  of  sincerity ;  it  is  the 
condition  of  persuasion.  It  is  the  security  for  the  orator's 
success, — most  of  all,  in  the  case  of  him  who  is  not  contend- 
ing for  palpable  rights  and  outward  interests,  but  who  is 
pleading  the  most  momentous  of  all  causes, — that  which  is 
ever  pending  between  the  soul  and  God. 

Earnestness  is  the  most  prominent  trait  of  eloquence.  It 
is  a  thing  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  depends  not  on  science.  It 
is  a  direct  product  of  the  soul.  It  has  no  half-way  existence. 
Either  it  is  not,  or  it  comes  *  beaming  from  the  eye,  speaking 
on  the  tongue,  informing  every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole 
man  onward,  right  onward  to  his  object.'  Nothing  can  take 
its  place.  Decorum,  without  it,  becomes  hollow  formality  • 
gravity,  coldness ;  dignity,  reserve  :  all  expression  loses  life 
and  power. 

Yet  earnestness  is  external  in  its  character,  and  may  be 
counterfeited,  even,  by  assuming  certain  outward  signs  of 
tone  and  action.  It  needs  but  a  little  attention  and  reflection 
to  note  and  discriminate  its  traits.  Every  observer  perceives 
its  characteristic  glance  of  the  eye ;  its  energetic,  warm, 
breathing,  heart-issuing  voice,  its  pithy  emphasis,  its  acute 
and  keen  inflection,  its  vivid  intonation,  its  animated  move- 
ment ;  its  forcible  and  spirited  and  varying  action,  its  speak- 
ing attitude  and  posture  ;  its  eloquent  glow  of  pervading  in- 
spiration. AYe  see  it  manifested  in  all  its  power,  as  the  in- 
stinctive art  of  eloquence  which  nature  teaches  to  the  child, 
to  the  mother,  to  the  loving  youth,  to  the  unconscious  savage. 

Earnestness,  as  a  habit  in  expression,  is  one  of  those  traits 
which  education  tends  to  quell  rather  than  to  aid.  Early,  in 
the  conventional  forms  of  school  life,  it  gives  way  to  reserve 
and  morbid  apathy,  or  to  an  arbitrary  decorum.     Inexpres- 


EARNESTNESS  AND  APATHY.  63 

sive  modes  of  action  and  utterance  become,  thus,  inseparable 
from  the  prevalent  habits  of  the  student  and  the  professional 
man.  Resolute  self-culture  alone  can  replace  the  lost  power 
in  individuals.  He  who  would  recover  it  effectually,  must  watch 
narrowly  the  sources  of  influence  on  mind  and  character.  He 
must  frequent  those  mental  resorts  whence  he  may  derive 
energetic  and  stirring  impulses  :  he  must  learn  to  detect,  and 
apply  to  his  own  being,  the  elements  of  inward  life  and  force, 
to  see  the  deep  and  living  reality  within  all  external  forms. 
He  must  learn  to  deal  with  thoughts  rather  than  words,  and 
with  things  more  than  with  mere  thought.  He  who  inhales 
the  inner  air  of  truth  and  reality,  cannot  be  an  indifferent 
spectator  of  life,  or  an  indifferent  pleader  for  its  duties.  The 
words  and  tones  and  looks  and  actions  of  the  human  being, 
are  profound  and  instructive  realities  to  him.  He  cannot  be 
indifferent  to  their  power  :  he  will  study  them  thoroughly ;  he 
will  use  them  effectively. 

One  efficacious  means  of  infusing  an  earnest  spirit  into  ex- 
pression, is  the  attentive  study  of  the  great  models  of  elo- 
quence, ancient  and  modern.  It  is  true,  that  the  process  of 
verbal  translation,  and  the  routine  of  formal  declamation,  in 
academic  exercises,  have  extracted  much  of  the  freshness  and 
the  life  of  eloquence  from  the  best  pages  of  classic  oratory, 
by  blunting  the  student's  sensibility  to  their  peculiar  power 
and  beauty.  Bat  to  every  true  scholar  there  comes  a  time 
when  the  trammels  of  early  association  are  laid  aside  with 
the  other  transient  impressions  of  boyhood,  and  the  man,  in 
the  maturity  of  his  mind,  perceives  and  appreciates  the  living 
force  of.  the  great  masters  in  oratory ;  and  then  Demosthenes 
and  Cicero  and  Chatham  are,  to  his  view,  themselves  again, 
in  their  original  power  and  splendour. 

The  daily  practice  of  reading  aloud,  and  declaiming  from 
these  authors,  cannot  but  rouse  and  impel  a  mind  that  truly 
feels  their  power.  The  sympathetic  spirit  must  catch  some- 
thing of  their  glowing  earnestness  and  breathing  life  of  utter- 
ance.    Language  such  as  theirs  it  is  hardly  possible  for  the 


W  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

man  to  repeat  in  the  cold  flat  tones  of  the  school-boy's  com- 
pulsory task. 

The  same  may  be  said  in  regard  to  the  effect  produced  on 
elocution  by  the  reading  and  study  of  all  writers  whose  lan- 
guage breathes  an  earnest  spirit.  The  stirring  narratives, 
even  of  the  novelist, — if  we  take  such  as  Scott  for  our  illus- 
tration,— exert  a  similar  power  in  awakening  and  impelling 
the  feelings  of  the  reader;  and  could  the  clergyman  who 
pleads  his  incessant  occupation,  as  an  apology  for  neglecting 
the  cultivation  of  his  delivery,  be  induced  to  devote  but  half 
an  hour  a  day  to  the  practice  of  reading  aloud,  to  his  own 
family  circle,  an  effective  passage  from  such  a  writer,  he 
would  unavoidably  acquire  a  vivid  and  earnest  manner  of  ex- 
pression, as  a  habit,  in  whatever  possessed  an  interest  to  his 
own  feelings. 

The  sui)erficial  impression  that  the  habit  of  reading  and 
speaking,  as  an  affair  of  practice,  tends  to  make  a  speaker 
mechanical  in  his  style,  arises  from  a  false  conception  of  the 
nature  of  the  exercise.  The  practice  which  the  elocutionist 
suggests  is  not  a  soulless  repetition  of  sounds :  he  insists  upon 
it  that  no  practice  is  of  any  avail  that  does  not  carry  the 
heart  with  it,  or  that  does  not  bring  forth  sincere  and  earnest 
feeling,  in  tone  and  manner.  His  desire  is  to  aid  the  speak- 
er in  evoking  and  expressing  his  inmost  soul,  as  the  only 
condition  of  the  power  to  elicit  the  genuine  sympathy  of  oth- 
ers. The  elocutionist  who  understands  his  subject,  can 
never  be  satisfied  with  a  heartless,  artificial  style  :  his  know- 
ledge of  his  subject  must  prevent  him  from  mistaking  or  pre- 
scribing the  false  for  the  true.  His  very  office  is  to  break 
up  routine,  formality,  and  every  other  trait  of  factitious  habit. 

The  erroneous  notion  that  practice  and  culture  tend  to 
cherish  an  artificial  manner  of  expression,  is  owing,  like 
many  other  mistakes  on  this  subject,  to  our  defective  modes 
of  education.  The  child,  at  school,  is  permitted  to  read  sen- 
tences as  merely  so  many  words  :  the  meaning  and  the  spirit 
of  a  passage  are  not  invariably  associated,  as  they  should  be, 


EARNESTNESS  AND  APATHY.  65 

with  the  language.  The  boy,  the  youth,  and  the  man,  ac- 
cordingly, through  the  successive  stages  of  education,  regard 
reading  as  an  arbitrary  and  mechanical  process ;  and  the  petty 
instruction  usually  given  about  pausing  and  emphasis  and  the 
inflections  of  the  voice,  has  only  served  to  verify  and  confirm 
the  impression.  An  education  true  to  sentiment,  to  language, 
and  to  man,  would  render  it  unnatural  to  the  ear  and  the 
voice  to  put  asunder  what  God  has  joined, — the  feeling  in 
the  heart,  and  its  utterance  in  appropriate  tone.  Ear  and 
voice,  if  trained  in  harmony,  would  always  come  to  one  re- 
sult ;  and  the  practice  of  reading  and  of  speaking,  would  con- 
firm, not  interfere  with,  the  tendency  of  nature. 

The  student,  therefore,  should  see  that  the  whole  matter 
rests  with  himself.  His  endeavour  ought  to  be  to  reform 
and  renovate  his  habits  of  expression,  so  thoroughly  that  his 
utter^ce  shall  always  be  true  and  earnest,  and  that  he  shall 
be  incapable  of  executing  a  tone  or  a  gesture  which  is  not 
the  natural  and  genuine  result  of  feeling.  His  daily  practice 
should  have  this  end  uniformly  in  view.  The  effects  result- 
ing from  deficiencies  and  errors  in  formal  education,  will  thus 
be  obviated  ;  and  every  exercise  which  he  performs  will  be 
an  additional  security  that  his  manner  shall  not  be  mechani- 
cal but,  on  the  contrary,  living  and  earnest. 

One  of  the  most  valuable,  in  fact,  of  all  accomplishments 
resulting  from  diligent  self-culture  in  elocution,  is  the  power 
which  it  imparts  of  entering,  at  once,  with  entire  and  perfect 
sympathy  into  the  mood  of  any  sentiment  which  is  to  be  read 
or  spoken.  The  homely  adage,  that  practice  makes  perfect, 
is  in  nothing  more  true  than  in  this  particular  case.  Nor  can 
there  be  a  greater  mistake  than  that  which  most  persons  fall 
into,  as  regards  the  function  of  the  elocutionist.  The  accom- 
plished reader  is  thought  to  possess  a  certain  talent  of  assimi- 
lation, by  which  he  assumes  or  puts  on  the  utterance  of  a  sen- 
timent, as  if  it  were  real.  The  true  elocutionist,  Hke  any 
other  sincere  and  earnest  man,  'knows  not  seems  f  he  either 
possesses  by  nature,  or  has  acquired  by  diligence,  a  facility  of 
giving  up  his  whole  being, — feeling  and  imagination,  as  well 
6* 


66  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

as  understanding, — to  the  sentiment  which  he  expresses.  To 
him  all  is  intense  reality.  In  the  act  of  reading  impressively 
a  strain  of  poetry,  he  is  but  exerting  that  receptive  and  ex- 
pressive power  which  makes  all  things  real  and  fresh  to  him- 
self, and  consequently  to  others, — a  power  which  dwells  in 
the  soul  and  on  the  tongue  of  every  child, — a  power  which 
the  good  reader  has  not  lost  or  has  only  recovered.  He  is 
but  performing  simply  and  earnestly  one  of  the  truest  func- 
tions of  his  being. 

The  indispensable  faculty  of  impai-ting  reality  to  thought 
and  feeling,  is,  in  the  elocutionist,  as  in  all  other  men,  that, 
rather,  of  perceiving  and  feeling  the  reality  of  thought.  He 
is  thus  enabled  to  impart  that  reality  to  the  minds  of  others. 
But,  without  this  condition,  there  can  be  no  true  use  of  the 
voice.  Earnestness  and  eloquence,  impressiveness  and  power, 
in  speaking,  are  merely  the  visible  and  audible  eflfects^of  the 
inspiration  which  emanates  from  this  source. 

The  preacher,  if  he  is  more  dependent  than  other  speakers, 
on  such  influence  as  this,  is  also  more  largely  furnished  with 
its  aid :  his  themes  are  the  most  inspiring  and  the  most  im- 
pressive on  which  the  human  mind  can  dwell.  To  be  elo- 
quent, he  has  but  to  be  earnest.  Earnestness  of  heart,  how- 
ever, does  not  necessarily  imply  earnestness  of  manner.  The 
very  depth  and  vividness  of  feeling,  are  sometimes  the  actual 
causes  of  silence.  The  preacher  has  to  learn,  like  other 
speakers,  to  control  and  modify  his  emotions  so  that  they  may 
become  capable  of  expression.  He  must  learn  to  recognize 
the  natural  signs  of  earnest  emotion  in  tone  and  action,  and 
to  identify  these  with  his  whole  manner.  He  must  learn  to 
lay  aside  the  passive  habits  into  which  he  may  have  fallen  in 
the  silence  and  seclusion  of  his  study,  and  enter  upon  the  ac- 
tive efforts  of  living  expression  and  effective  communication 
with  society.  He  must,  if  he  would  attain  success,  labour  to 
acquire  the  power  of  imparting  to  others  the  reality  which 
his  thoughts  possess  to  his  own  mind.  The  earnestness  of 
his  manner  in  speaking,  is  the  natural  gauge  of  this  reality. 
The  preacher,  therefore,  who  feels  the  importance  of  this 


EARNESTNESS  AND  APATHY.  67 

point,  will  not  think  it  unworthy  of  his  office  to  study  and 
observe  every  effective  means  of  imparting  earnestness  to  his 
voice  or  his  action.  How  often  is  the  hearer  left  aware  how 
much  more  the  preacher  might  effect,  were  his  tone  more  ex- 
pressive, his  emphasis  stronger,  his  manner  more  energetic ; 
were  he  but  earnest  enough  to  secure  interest  in  his  thoughts, 
and  sympathy  with  his  feelings ! 

The  quiet  and  placid  tenor  of  a  pastor's  life,  while  it  fa- 
vours his  attainments  in  the  contemplation  of  abstract  and  re- 
flective truth,  is  not  so  conducive  to  the  acquisition  of  the 
power  of  earnest  and  impressive  utterance.  He,  as  a  speak- 
er, needs,  more  than  others,  the  aid  of  express  study  and 
practice  in  that  art  which  tends  to  impart  *  action  and  utter- 
ance, and  the  power  of  speech  to  stir  men's  blood,'  for  great 
purposes. — The  player  who  is  faithful  to  the  duties  of  his  vo- 
cation, gives  the  daily  study  of  successive  years,  to  the  pre- 
paration for  performing  a  great  part,  so  as  to  give  effective 
utterance  to  great  sentiments  and  glowing  language.  He 
whose  express  business  it  has  been  to  render  himself  expert 
in  giving  to  thought  and  emotion  their  appropriate  tone,  look, 
attitude,  and  action,  with  all  the  earnestness  of  life,  feels  that 
this  very  process  is  one  in  which  careful  study  and  laborious 
practice  are  perpetually  required  to  ensure  success.  The 
daily  arduous  study  practised  by  such  men  as  Kemble  and 
Macready,  might  well  put  to  the  blush  many  a  phlegmatic 
speaker  in  the  pulpit,  who  seldom  passes  a  thought  on  the 
only  natural  means  of  rendering  his  ministrations  interesting 
or  impressive. 

No  juster  remark  was  ever  made  than  that  contained  in 
the  answer  of  the  player  to  the  preacher.  *  "We  utter  fiction 
as  if  it  were  truth ;  you  utter  truth  as  if  it  were  fiction.'  Nor 
will  this  observation  cease  to  be  applicable  to  the  style  of  the 
pulpit,  while  a  formal  and  ceremonious,  instead  of  a  living 
and  earnest  manner,  continues  to  be  associated  with  it,  as  a 
matter  of  habit,  in  preachers  and  hearers.  No  error  is  more 
general,  and  none  is  more  fatal  in  its  consequences,  than  that 
into  which  young  preachers  are  so  apt  to  fall, — that  the  elo- 


68  PULPIT  ELOCTTTION. 

cution  of  the  pulpit  is  a  permanent  fixture  on  which  the  per- 
sonal habit  of  an  individual  is  to  make  no  encroachment,  and 
that,  once  in  the  pulpit,  a  speaker  is  necessarily  tied  down  to 
a  certain  decorous  average  of  manner,  never  too  earnest  to 
disturb  the  repose  of  established  routine. 


FORCE,  FEEBLENESS. 

Force,  as  a  trait  of  manner  in  speaking,  is  inseparable 
from  earnestness.  It  is  a  natural  attendant  on  animation. 
It  is  the  invariable  characteristic  of  the  speaker  who  is  him- 
self awake  to  his  subject,  and  whose  feelings  are  interested 
in  what  he  utters.  We  hear  it  in  the  vigour  of  his  voice,  in 
the  weight  of  his  emphasis,  in  the  strength  and  fullness  and 
impressive  power  of  his  tones  of  emotion ;  we  see  it  in  the 
manly  energy  of  his  action. 

The  property  of  force  is  not,  it  is  true,  an  invariable  char- 
acteristic of  eloquence.  There  are  subjects  and  occasions 
which  quell  and  subdue  force,  and  which  forbid  mere  loudness 
of  voice,  or  energy  of  action.  But  the  public  speaker  who 
does  not,  on  appropriate  occasions,  rise  to  impressive  force  of 
manner,  falls  short,  not  merely  of  eloquent  effect,  but  of  true 
and  manly  expression.  Freedom,  appropriateness,  grace,  are 
all  inferior  to  this  master  quality.  An  energetic  speaker  will 
force  his  way  to  the  heart,  in  spite  of  awkward  and  ungainly 
habits.  Genuine  force  is,  to  sympathy,  what  necessity  is  to 
motive  ;  it  sweeps  all  before  it.* 

Force  is  the  prime  attribute  of  man ;  it  cannot  be  dispen- 
sed with,  in  the  habits  of  the  speaker.     No  degree  of  fluency, 

*  The  eloquence  of  the  Scottish  preacher  Chalmers,  forms  a  striking 
example  in  point.  The  uncouthness  of  his  broad  dialectic  accent,  and 
his  pretcniatural  vehemence  of  voice  and  action,  are  lost  in  the  fervid 
force  of  that  native  enthusiasm  Avith  which  he  flings  soul  and  body  into 
his  subject  and  his  manner.  His  whole  being  is  concentrated  on  his 
theme ;  and  he  holds  his  audience,  of  whatever  class,  with  the  grasp  of  a 
giant        '■«*^":i;**'*  >-■ 


VEHEMENCE,  VIOLENCE.  6^ 

or  of  mere  grace,  can  be  accepted  in  its  stead.  The  feeble, 
florid  rhetorician  never  affects  his  audience  beyond  the  sur- 
face of  fancy.  The  preacher  whose  manner  is  weak,  never 
penetrates  the  heart,  or  impresses  the  mind.  The  prime 
characteristic  of  style  in  man  addressing  man,  on  topics  of 
vast  concern,  must  be  force.  Culture  may  come  in,  to  mod- 
ulate that  force  into  fitting  and  graceful  forms.  But  where 
life  and  soul  are,  there  must  be  force.  Eloquence  persuades ; 
but  it  also  impels  and  urges,  with  irresistible  power. 


VEHEMENCE,  VIOLENCE. 

Genuine  force  of  manner  in  speaking,  rises,  indeed,  on 
some  occasions  to  vehemence  itself.  The  inspiration  of  a 
strong  emotion  does  not  stop  to  weigh  manner  in  *  the  hair- 
balance  of  propriety  ;'  it  will  not  wait  for  nice  and  scrupulous 
adaptation.  The  speaker  who  is  never  moved  beyond  a  cer- 
tain decorous  reserve,  will  never  move  his  audience  to  sym- 
pathy. Force  will  not  be  hedged  in  by  arbitrary  prescrip- 
tions. 

It  is  not  less  true,  however,  that  vehemence,  being  the  off- 
spring of  enthusiasm,  is,  like  its  parent,  exceedingly  prone  to 
the  evils  of  excess.  There  is  a  bad  as  well  as  a  good  enthu- 
siasm, and,  consequently,  a  bad  as  well  as  a  good  vehemence. 
The  genuine  inspiration,  the  true  vehemence,  is,  even  in  its 
strongest  expression,  like  the  eloquence  which  the  great  ora- 
tor has  so  characteristically  described  as  resembling  '  the  out- 
breaking of  the  fountain  from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth 
of  volcanic  fire ;'  it  has  the  force,  but,  still,  the  beauty  or  the 
grandeur,  of  nature. 

The  vehemence  of  indignation  is  sometimes  one  of  the 
strongest  incitements  of  eloquence.  We  trace  this  fact,  in 
many  instances,  in  the  language  of  the  sacred  volume,  not 
less  distinctly  than  in  that  of  Demosthenes,  or  Cicero,  or 
Chatham.  But  true  vehemence  never  degenerates  into  vio- 
lence and  vociferation.     It  is  the  force  of  inspiration, — not  of 


70  PtTLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

frenzy.  It  is  not  manifested  in  the  screaming  and  foaming, 
the  stamping  and  the  contortions,  of  vulgar  excess.  It  is 
ever  manly  and  noble,  in  its  intensest  excitement :  it  ele- 
vates,— it  does  not  degrade.  It  never  descends  to  the  bawl- 
ing voice,  the  guttural  coarseness,  the  shrieking  emphasis, 
the  hysteric  ecstasy  of  tone,  the  bullying  attitude,  and  the 
clinched  fist  of  extravagant  passion. 


GENTLENESS,  SPIRIT,  TAMENESS. 

The  excesses  of  improper  vehemence  in  delivery,  however, 
while  they  are  utterly  revolting  to  humanity  and  taste,  are 
no  excuse  for  the  habitual  weakness  of  manner,  which  is 
betrayed  by  speakers  of  the  opposite  character.  Gentleness, 
it  is  true,  is  one  of  the  most  efficacious  of  all  the  means  of 
persuasion ;  and  it  is  nowhere  more  successful  or  more  be- 
coming, than  in  the  pulpit.  But,  as  force  is  not  violence,  so 
neither  is  gentleness  tameness.  *  He  is  gentle,  and  not  fear- 
ful,* is  one  of  the  truest  of  those  just  and  beautiful  discrimi- 
nations which  are  the  charm  of  the  great  dramatist,  in  his 
exquisite  delineations  of  the  various  shades  of  human  char- 
acter. 

The  act  of  expression,  whether  it  is  performed  by  the  voice, 
the  eye,  or  the  hand,  or  by  the  natural  union  of  them  all,  de- 
mands a  living  force.  It  may  be  moderate  ;  but  it  must  be 
spirited.  It  requires  that  easy  and  skilful,  perhaps  gentle, 
exercise  of  force,  which  characterizes  the  decisive  touches  of 
the  artist,  and  which  gives  prominence  and  life  to  the  figures 
of  his  canvass.  It  is  the  farthest  thing  possible  from  tame- 
ness and  feebleness.  Power  of  expressive  utterance,  is  the 
positive  electricity  of  the  soul ;  it  implies  a  percussive  force 
of  will  on  the  organic  frame  ;  its  natural  language  is  energy 
of  voice  and  gesture. 

The  tame  speaker  wearies  his  audience,  and  sends  them 
away  indifferent  to  any  effect ; — their  minds  a  mere  blanL 


BOLDNESS,.  TIMIDITY.  71 

The  feeble  speaker  excites  the  pity  of  his  hearers  ;  they  sym- 
pathize with  the  organic  weakness  under  which  he  seems  to 
labour,  and  leave  the  place  of  assembly,  utterly  unimpressed 
with  any  feeling  but  of  compassion  for  the  preacher  person- 
ally. Had  he  but  exerted  his  organs  sufficiently  to  fill  with 
his  voice  the  building  in  which  he  spoke  ;  had  he  but  given  a 
hearty  emphasis  to  his  utterance,  or  a  manly  energy  to  his 
tones  ;  had  he  not  allowed  himself  to  '  mutter  like  the  wiz- 
ard behind  the  wall ;'  had  he  permitted  himself  the  just  force 
and  decision  of  a  messenger  empowered  to  deliver  an  author- 
itative message  ; — how  different  might  have  been  the  result ! 
His  subject  might  then  have  penetrated  every  mind,  and  im- 
pressed every  heart :  his  audience  might  have  departed  la- 
menting, if  anything,  their  own  lack  of  spiritual  life,  not  the 
feeble  style  of  the  preacher. 


BOLDNESS,  TIMIDITY. 

A  reckless  boldness  of  manner,  is  repulsive  in  any  speaker, 
and,  most  of  all,  in  him  who  addresses  his  fellow-men  on  sa- 
cred themes.  It  is  utterly  at  variance  with  the  spirit  of  gen- 
tleness and  tenderness  which  was  manifested  by  the  preach- 
er's great  Exemplar.  Yet,  owing  to  the  absence  of  the  mould- 
ing influence  of  true  culture,  how  often  is  an  audience  ha- 
rangued from  the  pulpit  in  a  style  of  address  which  implies 
no  respect  for  the  speaker's  fellow-beings. 

This  style  is  usually  characterized  by  an  ungoverned  loud- 
ness of  voice,  a  violent  emphasis,  an  unmitigated  vehemence 
of  tone,  a  perpetual  sweeping  and  jerking  of  the  arm,  and  a 
frequent  clinching  of  the  fist.  It  is  true  that  such  a  style  is 
often  the  unconscious  result  of  the  speaker's  force  of  convic- 
tion and  fullness  of  feeling,  in  regard  to  his  subject  rather 
than  the  persons  whom  he  is  addressing ;  and  that  the  idea 
of  a  bullying  effect  in  his  style,  never,  probably,  occurred  to 
him.  But  one  seasonable  suggestion  from  his  teacher  at 
school,  would  have  sufficed  to  guard  him  against  this  obstacle 


72  l»ULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

to  his  usefulness,  by  leading  him  to  recognize  the  difference 
between  a  manner  which  merely  expresses  the  excitement  of 
the  speaker  himself,  and  that  which  moulds  this  very  excite- 
ment into  an  eloquent  effect  on  others. 

The  timid  or  the  diffident  speaker,  on  the  contrary,  who 
has  not,  apparently,  the  courage,  or  the  self-possession  to  lift 
up  his  voice  in  an  audible  sound,  and  whose  hand  seems  glued 
to  his  side,  and  his  whole  body  paralyzed, — so  that  he  ap- 
pears a  statue-like  personification  of  constraint, — unavoidably 
imparts  to  the  feelings  of  those  whom  he  addresses  a  degree 
of  the  irksomeness  and  misery  under  which  he  himself  is  la- 
bouring. Whatever  he  would  attempt  to  say,  becomes,  as  it 
were,  frozen  in  the  act  of  issuing  from  the  mouth.  His  arm, 
if  it  ever  rises  to  an  action,  makes  but  an  approach  to  ges- 
ture, and  only  leaves  the  eye  more  sensitive  to  the  want 
of  it. 

The  embarrassed  speaker,  with  his  suppressed  and  im- 
perfect utterance,  and  cowed,  hesitating  action,  does  not  even 
fulfil  the  organic  conditions  of  address  ;  he  falls  equally  short 
of  reaching  ear,  eye,  and  heart.  His  matter  may  be  rich  and 
strong, — his  composition  eloquent ;  but  all  is  lost  for  want 
of  that  courage  which  a  little  training  and  practice  might 
easily  impart,  and  which  would  inspire  the  due  boldness  that 
becomes  a  man  addressing  his  fellow-beings. 

There  is,  undoubtedly,  a  good  as  well  as  a  faulty  boldness. 
The  preacher,  if  true  to  his  subject  and  his  hearers,  will  often 
have  occasion  to  exert  the  former.  It  then  becomes  an  ele- 
ment of  appropriate  manner  and  just  effect.  It  is,  in  such 
circumstances,  indispensable  to  sincere  feeling  and  true  elo- 
quence, not  less  than  to  good  elocution. 


HARSHNESS,  AMENITY. 
The  too  bold  speaker  is  apt  to  add  to  the  bad  effects  of  ap- 
parent indifference  to  the  presence  of  his  hearers,  that  of  a 
repulsive  harshness  of  voice  and  aspect, — a  fault  at  variance 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  FORCE.  73 

with  everything  like  persuasive  or  genial  effect.  Sternness 
and  asperity  of  expression  preclude  the  speaker  from  access 
to 'the  heart,  and  seal  the  mind  to  his  influence.  Yet  inad- 
vertent habit,  in  the  absence  of  culture,  has  sometimes  stamp- 
ed such  a  manner  on  the  preacher. 

The  energy  of  such  speakers  soon  becomes  vehemence ;. 
and  their  vehemence,  apparent  anger.  No  wonder  that  they 
should  displease,  rather  than  win  their  hearers.  Faults  of 
this  description  are  usually  matters  of  utter  unconsciousness 
to  the  individuals  who  commit  them.  They  are  often  the  re- 
sults of  mere  constitutional  austerity  and  ill-regulated  force  of 
expression.  Ten  minutes  of  the  so  much  derided  practice  be- 
fore the  looking-glass,  would  reflect  so  faithfully  to  such 
speakers  the  visible  image  which  they  present,  that  they 
could  not  tolerate  its  associations ;  and  the  reform  of  mien 
and  aspect  would  unavoidably  extend  its  softening  influence 
to  the  voice. 

An  insipid,  simpering,  blandness  of  manner,  is  certainly  a 
very  undesirable  trait  in  any  speaker.  It  is  peculiarly  silly 
or  ridiculous  in  a  preacher ;  he  is  the  ambassador  of  Divine 
truth ;  and,  if  he  understands  his  office,  is  clothed  with  a 
higher  dignity  than  can  be  conferred  by  man.  His  office  en- 
titles him  to  speak  as  one  having  authority. 

But  the  spirit  of  love  which  should  breathe  from  the- 
preacher's  lips,  will  diffuse  its  genial  amenity  over  his  whole 
manner.  His  tones,  his  features,  his  action,  will  invite,  will 
intreat,  will  persuade,  will  win  his  hearers,  and  attract  them 
to  his  subject.  The  humane  and  benevolent  spirit  of  his  of- 
fice, will  be  legible  in  every  trait  of  his  address. 


THE  CULTIVATION  OF  FORCE. 
Modes  of  cultivating  Force. 

The  cultivation  of  elocution  with  a  view  to  the  acquisition 
of  due  force  of  manner, — a  style  free  from  all  the  faults  of 

7 


74  PtTLPIT  ELOCUTIOSr. 

feebleness  and  tameness, — requires  a  proper  attention  to 
health  and  vigour  of  body,  as  an  indispensable  condition  of 
energetic  expression  in  utterance  and  action.  The  weak  and 
constrained  speaker  may  become  eiFective  and  free,  by  due 
exposure  and  exercise.  The  flaccid  muscle,  and  the  enfee- 
bled nerve,  will  thus  acquire  tone ;  the  voice  will  become  so- 
norous ;  the  arm  energetic ;  the  attitude  firm ;  the  whole 
manner  impressive. 

The  sedentary  life  of  the  student  and  the  preacher,  subjects 
t^em  to  weakness  of  body  and  languor  of  spirits,  and  predis- 
poses them  to  feebleness  in  voice  and  action.  They  need 
double  care  and  diligence,  for  the  preservation  of  that  healthy 
tone  of  feeling,  which  alone  can  ensure  energy  of  habit  in  ex- 
pressive utterance. 

To  such  measures  should  be  added  a  constant  resort  to  all 
the  genuine  sources  of  mental  vigour  ;  the  attentive  study  of 
the  effects  of  force  in  all  its  natural  forms,  in  the  outward 
phenomena  of  the  universe ;  in  the  varied  shapes  which  it  as- 
sumes in  all  the  expressive  arts, — particularly  in  music,  sculp- 
ture, and  painting,  and,  most  of  all,  in  written  language. 

The  express  discipline  of  the  voice,  with  a  view  to  the  ac- 
quisition of  organic  force  and  vocal  power,  in  the  modes  pre- 
scribed in  the  volume  on  Orthophony,  will  fully  reward  the 
student,  by  the  command  which  it  will  give  him  over  his  or- 
gans, and  the  fullness  and  energy  which  it  will  impart  to  his 
tones.  The  daily  practice  of  vigorous  declamation,  aided  by 
the  study  of  the  principles  of  gesture,  as  laid  down  in  the 
Elocutionist,  will  enable  the  professional  speaker  to  acquire 
that  force  in  action,  which  is  an  indispensable  part  of  effective 
and  impressive  delivery. 

Modes  of  subduing  excessive  Vehemence. 

The  only  effectual  means  of  correcting  faults  of  excessive 

force,  such  as  violence,  undue  boldness,  harshness  of  manner, 

and  similar  qualities,  must  be  sought  in  an  entire  revolution 

of  taste  and  habits.     The  speaker  whose  style  is  marked  by 


FREEDOM,  CONSTRAINT,  RESERVE.  75 

such  blemishes,  must  learn  to  perceive  the  appropriateness 
and  moral  beauty  of  gentleness,  dignity,  calmness  and  com- 
posure of  mien  and  action,  moderation  of  voice,  and  amenity 
of  manner,  in  him  whose  office  is  sacred  in  all  its  associations, 
and  whose  habitual  expression  should  breathe  the  spirit  of  hu- 
manity and  love. 

The  unseemly  vehemence  which  degrades  the  pulpit  to  the 
level  of  the  popular  arena,  implies  a  grievous  error  of  judg- 
ment not  less  than  of  taste.  It  involves  a  fatal  defect  in  the 
whole  mental  structure  and  character  of  the  speaker  himself. 
The  sense  of  iStness  and  of  beauty,  must,  to  such  individuals, 
be  a  matter  of  acquisition  ;  it  can  be  attained  only  by  means 
of  attentive  study  and  close  observation.  Discipline  must,  in 
such  instances,  be  applied  as  a  corrective  to  taste  and  ten- 
dency ;  eloquence  should  be  studied  in  its  power  to  soften 
and  subdue ;  the  heart  should  be  subjected  to  the  calm  and 
gentle  influence  of  nature,  the  tranquil  beauty  of  art,  and  the 
tender  breathings  of  such  poetry  as  that  of  Cowper ;  the 
spirit  should  be  moulded  by  the  softening  touch  of  refining 
intercourse  in  elevated  social  life  ;  a  genial  sympathy  with 
humanity  should  be  acquired  by  habitual  benevolent  commu- 
nication with  its  sufferings  and  depressions.  The  speaker's 
whole  manner  may  thus  be  formed  anew,  and  acquire  that 
moderation  and  that  mildness  which  are  the  characteristics 
of  genuine  eloquence- 


FREEDOM,  CONSTRAINT,  RESERVE. 
An  indispensable  trait  of  manliness,  not  less  than  of  elo- 
quence, is  entire  freedom  of  manner,  arising  from  due  self- 
reliance,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  self-forgetfulness  which 
naturally  arises  from  a  speaker's  interest  in  his  subject.  A 
modest  estimation  of  his  own  powers,  a  proper  respect  for 
others,  and  a  profound  feeling  of  the  importance  of  his  sub- 
ject, are  not  incompatible  with  perfect  ease  and  self-posses- 
.^ion.     Embarrassment  and  constraint,  indeed,  are  not  unfre- 


7e 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


quently  owing  to  that  vacillation  of  attention,  which  allows 
the  speaker's  mind  to  vibrate  between  the  duty  before  him, 
and  the  consciousness  of  his  personal  relation  to  it.  The 
unity  of  his  mental  and  bodily  action,  would  remain  unim- 
paired, were  his  whole  mind  absorbed  in  his  theme  :  the  dis- 
turbing self-conscious  reference  would  thus  be  precluded ; 
and  his  manner  would  be  concentrated  in  earnest,  impressive 
utterance. 

Freedom,  self-possession,  and  ease  of  manner,  would  seem 
to  be  the  natural  condition  of  man  addressing  man  ;  and  these 
traits  would  be  the  spontaneous  concomitants  of  pubHc  dis- 
course, if  education  in  early  life,  were  properly  regulated. 
But  this  advantage  is  not  enjoyed,  in  the  present  forms  of 
school  routine.  The  exercise  of  declamation,  which  is  the 
only  training  prescribed  for  boys,  is  too  formal  and  ceremo- 
nious in  its  style,  to  lead  to  free,  unembarrassed  manner  in 
address.  The  subject  of  his  declamation  is  usually  too  ab- 
Btract  and  general,  or  of  too  conventional  a  character,  to  per- 
mit the  young  speaker  to  identify  it  with  the  workings  of  his 
own  mind.  The  exercise  is  accordingly  performed  in  the 
spirit  of  mechanical  routine,  as  a  task  to  be  undergone, — ^as 
an  unmeaning  ceremony. 

The  unnatural  position  of  the  juvenile  speaker,  embarras- 
ses him ;  and  his  whole  style  is  constrained  and  awkward. 
His  voice  is  smothered  by  his  conscious  inability  to  utter 
aright  the  sentiments  which  he  is  expressing :  his  emphasis 
is  quelled  by  the  conviction  that  his  feelings  are  unnatural 
to  him :  his  tones,  uninspired  by  genuine  emotion,  deviate 
into  an  arbitrary  chant :  his  action  becomes, — from  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  is  performing  a  part, — forced  and  unnatu- 
ral. The  inevitable  result  of  such  processes,  is,  that  the  hab- 
its of  the  boy  are  moulded  into  forms  which  indicate  con- 
straint as  inseparably  associated  with  the  act  of  declaiming. 
At  no  subsequent  stage  of  education  is  this  association  broken 
up  ;  and  it  continues  to  hang,  as  a  visible  load,  on  the  habitu- 
al manner  of  the  professional  speaker. 

The  injurious  effects  of  misdirected  education,  in  this  par- 


FREEDOM,  CONSTRAINT,  RESERVE.  77 

ticular,  are  frequently  perceptible  in  the  elocution  of  the  pul- 
pit. The  preacher  often  seems,  in  consequence  of  these,  to  be 
going  through  an  irksome  process,  from  which  it  would  be  a 
grateful  relief  to  be  set  free.  His  suppressed  voice,  his  im- 
perfect utterance,  his  reserved  tones,  his  constrained  mien 
and  posture,  his  confined,  angular,  hesitating,  awkward,  half- 
executed  gestures,  all  seem  to  indicate  the  prisoner  of  re- 
straint, rather  than  the  voluntary  speaker. 

A  little  preparatory  training  would  save  the  young  preach- 
er from  this  process  of  suffering  and  exposure,  and  enable  him 
to  deliver  his  message  with,  at  least,  the  due  degree  of  com- 
posure and  self-possession.  The  reserve  which  diffidence 
throws  over  the  speaker's  manner,  is  utterly  at  variance  with 
that  spirit  of  sympathy  and  communication,  which  is  the  true 
source  of  speech.  Earnest  and  impressive  address  is  incom- 
patible with  a  manner  which  seems  to  withhold  rather  than 
impart  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  speaker, — to  suppress 
rather  than  to  give  utterance  to  his  emotions.  The  preacher 
then  becomes  the  messenger  who  keeps  back  rather  than  de- 
livers his  message :  the  man  is  virtually  unfaithful  to  his 
trust.  His  audience  leave  him  unimpressed  with  the  spirit  of 
the  communication  which  it  was  his  office  to  make,  and  to 
which  all  his  energies  should  have  been  devoted. 

The  easy,  self-possessed  speaker,  on  the  contrary,  imparts 
composure  by  his  very  manner.  His  flowing  speech,  and  un- 
constrained action,  cause  his  thoughts  to  glide  easily  into  the 
mind.  His  unembarrassed  and  natural  utterance  finds  its 
way  immediately  to  the  sympathies  of  his  audience  :  persua- 
sion dwells  on  the  very  accents  of  his  voice  :  he  seems  to 
mould  the  mind  at  will :  he  secures  the  attention  by  winning 
both  ear  and  eye  :  his  hearers  follow  the  strain  of  his  remarks 
without  effort :  their  complacency  with  the  speaker  predisposes 
them  to  receive  the  truths  which  he  inculcates. 

An  easy,  unconstrained  style,  in  speaking,  is  more  depend- 
ent on  culture  and  practice,  than  is  any  other  trait  of  elocu- 
tion.    Attention  and  diligence,  however,  are  the  only  condi- 
tions on  which  a  speaker  can  become  effectually  master  of 
7* 


78 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


himself,  as  to  outward  manner.  Early  education,  if  it  were 
what  it  should  be,  would  mould  all  cultivated  men  into  habit- 
ual ease  in  expression,  from  their  first  attempts  at  speaking, 
in  boyhood.  But  our  present  arrangements  at  school  and 
■college,  do  not  call  the  individual  into  practice  often  enough 
to  allow  him  to  feel  at  home  in  the  act.  The  process  of  crit- 
icising, too,  whether  it  is  performed  by  the  teacher,  or  devol- 
ved on  the  speaker's  class-fellows,  is  customarily  limited  to 
the  indication  of  some  prominent  faults,  after  the  exercise  is 
over.  This  practice  may  prune  and  repress  and  chill ;  but^ 
it  never  can  inspire  and  guide  and  develope  and  warm  and 
invigorate.  Its  usual  effect  is  to  restrain  and  embarrass. 
The  student  feels,  in  the  exercise  of  declamation,  that  he  is 
speaking  before  critics,  for  the  express  purpose  of  being  criti- 
<;i6ed.  He  knows  he  is  not  uttering  his  personal  feelings  to 
sympathetic  listeners ;  and  his  reserve  of  manner  betrays 
the  fact  of  his  conscious  condition.  He  studies  coolness  and 
-correctness,  rather  than  earnestness  and  warmth.  He  shuns 
the  natural  glow  of  feeling  and  expression,  and  quenches  rath- 
er than  cherishes  the  spirit  of  eloquence.* 

Early  education  ought  to  exhibit  and  implant  principles 
which  would  anticipate  and  preclude  the  growth  of  false  hab- 
its. A  preventive  regimen  should  be  adopted  in  this,  as  in 
every  other  branch  of  culture.  The  ofiice  of  instruction  is  to 
preoccupy  the  mind,  and  infuse  truth,  rather  than  to  eradi- 
cate error, — to  form  and  mould  and  strengthen  the  power  of 
expression,  rather  than  to  trim  excrescences, — to  inspire  gen- 
uine emotion,  and  to  infuse  true  grace,  rather  than  to  correct 
the  petty  errors  of  judgment,  or  check  the  transient  excesses 
of  feeling,  and  castigate  the  venial  errors  of  immature  taste. 
These  functions,  it  is  true,  form  a  pai't  of  the  duties  of  the 

*  The  easy  and  fluent  manner  of  students  from  the  South,  forms  an 
obvious  contrast  to  the  prevalent  stiffness  and  reserve  of  the  local  man- 
ner at  our  Eastern  colleges.  The  difference,  in  this  case,  is  owing,  large- 
ly, to  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  style,  which  results  from  the  modes  of 
Soathem  education,  during  the  early  period  of  life. 


FREEDOM,  CONSTRAINT,  RESERVE.  79 

faithful  teacher.  But  they  are  the  mere  '  mint,  anise,  and 
cummin,'  compared  to  '  the  mightier  matters  of  the  law.' 

The  spirit  of  finical  criticism  invariably  turns  away  the 
speaker's  attention  from  his  subject  to  himself.  It  troubles 
his  mind  with  an  embarrassing  self-consciousness,  which  con- 
strains his  manner,  and  cools  hie  emotion. 

The  professional  speaker  has  to  labour  under  the  disadvan- 
tage of  a  long  course  of  such  training.  No  wonder,  therefore, 
that  his  style  should  be  unnatural  and  constrained,  as  a  result 
of  habit  and  association.  Against  such  evils  the  student  who 
would  form  his  manner  to  a  free,  expressive  character,  must 
necessarily  watch,  and  zealously  guard  himself  by  constant 
practice.  His  chief  aids  will  lie  in  the  attentive  study  of  the 
freest  and  most  natural  of  all  the  forms  of  expression,  those 
which  are  presented  in  the  perfect  products  of  art, — more  par- 
ticularly those  of  sculpture  and  painting.  He  will  be  assisted 
by  the  daily  practice  of  reading  and  reciting  from  the  freest 
and  most  flowing  language  of  poetry.  He  will  derive  still 
more  benefit  from  accustoming  himself  to  the  vivid  recitation 
of  the  most  natural  and  expressive  passages  of  the  drama. 
No  exercise  in  elocution  is  so  conducive  to  freedom  of  man- 
ner as  this.* 

The  general  effect  on  the  preacher's  style  of  address  in  the 
pulpit,  as  regards  due  freedom  and  facility,  is,  no  doubt,  de- 
pendent on  the  extent  to  which  he  accustoms  himself  to  min- 
gle with  society,  and  contract  that  familiarity  with  man  which 
renders  the  office  of  communicating  with  him  easy  and  spon- 
taneous. The  secluded  student  is  little  prepared  for  one  main 
office  of  the  ministry, — that  of  free,  unembarrassed  utterance. 
Like  every  other  art  worth  mastering,  it  requires  of  every 
individual,  culture  and  practice,  as  the  only  conditions  on 
which  he  can  attain  skill  and  facility. 

*  The  ancient  practice  of  acting  plays  at  school  and  college,  and  even 
at  professional  institutions,  was  founded  on  a  true  impression  of  the  im- 
portance of  free  and  natural  manner  in  speaking. 


80  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


VARIETY,  MONOTONY. 

Sentiments  which  possess  force  and  interest  to  the  mind, 
though  they  sometimes  run  comparatively  long  in  one  chan- 
nel of  feeling  and  expression,  do  not  pursue  an  undeviating, 
unvarying  course.  The  nntural  tendency  of  impressive 
thought,  is  to  call  up  varied  emotions  and  diversified  forms  of 
imagination.  The  appropriate  communication  of  such  thought, 
implies,  therefore,  a  varying  tone,  aspect,  and  action.  Trite 
thoughts  may  justify  a  monotonous  manner  of  expressing 
them.  But  public  address,  especially  from  the  pulpit,  forbids 
the  presentation  of  thread-bare  topics  and  insignificant  ideas. 
"We  pardon  these  in  the  aimless  movement  of  unpremeditated 
conversation,  but  not  on  occasions  when  numbers  are  assem- 
bled to  hear  important  and  impressive  truths. 

The  popular  complaint,  therefore,  that  preachers  are  defi- 
cient in  variety  of  manner  in  their  speaking, — although  some- 
times an  arbitrary  objection,  founded  on  a  vague  and  general 
impression,  regardless  of  particular  circumstances  which  may 
happen  to  forbid  variety, — is  by  no  means  destitute  of  founda- 
tion. Sermons  are  too  commonly  written  after  the  fashion  of 
academic  themes  on  prescribed  common-place  topics.  The 
mind  of  the  writer  pursues,  in  such  cases,  an  unexciting,  me- 
chanical routine  of  thought ;  his  pen  betrays  the  fact  in  its 
trite  language ;  and  his  tones, — his  very  looks  and  gestures, 
— ^repeat  the  effect  to  ear  and  eye,  in  flat  and  wearisome  mo- 
notony. 

The  defects  of  early  education,  which,  in  other  points,  are 
so  injurious  to  manner  and  so  destructive  to  eloquence,  reveal 
themselves  distinctly  here.  The  speaker  in  the  pulpit  carries 
with  him  the  deadening  influence  of  years  of  false  habit  and 
lifeless  utterance,  contracted  from  the  neglect  of  his  style  in 
youth  ;  from  the  custom  of  declaiming,  in  an  unmeaning  and 
inexpressive  way,  passages  either  unintelligible  or  uninterest- 
ing to  him;  and,  sometimes,  from  the  stiffening  effect  of  the 
arbitrary  directions  which  he  has  received  in  the  shape  of 
formal  instruction.     The  lifeless  tones  of  school  reading,  are 


VARIETY,  MONOTONY.  81 

still  haunting  his  ear  as  an  unconscious  standard ;  and  he 
consequently  observes  the  beaten  round  of  a  uniform  force,  a 
uniform  pitch,  and  a  uniform  gait  of  voice,  destitute  of  ex- 
pression,— the  primitive  tone  of  no  meaning  and  no  feeling, 
which  he  instinctively  and  very  justly  applied  in  childhood,  to 
what  he  could  neither  understand  nor  feel, — but  a  tone  which 
inveterate  habit  has  made  natural  to  his  ear.  To  such  modes 
of  voice  the  preacher  not  unfrequently  adds  a  lifeless  stillness 
of  body,  and  an  insipid  sameness  of  gesture,  which  produce  a 
similar  effect  on  the  eye  to  that  which  his  utterance  exerts  on 
the  ear. 

The  fault  of  monotony  is,  if  anywhere,  unpardonable  in  the 
pulpit,  where  the  speaker  has  the  range  of  the  universe,  for 
his  subjects,  and  the  topics  of  spiritual  and  eternal  life  for  his 
habitual  themes.  Why  should  the  elocution  of  the  preacher 
be  almost  proverbially  monotonous  ?  Why  should  it  so  often 
furnish  just  ground  for  the  sleepy  hearer  to  devolve  the 
fault  of  his  condition  on  the  preacher's  voice  ? 

The  easy  remedy  for  this  state  of  matters,  lies  in  the  study 
of  elocution,  and  the  cultivation  of  expressive  tone  and  action. 
A  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  audible  and  visible  expres- 
sion, will  enable  the  student  to  trace  the  natural  and  appro- 
priate difference  of  tones,  and  to  identify  every  mode  of  utte- 
rance with  its  peculiar  characteristic  emotion.  It  will  be 
impossible  for  him,  afterwards,  to  mistake  a  dead  level  of 
voice  for  expressive  variation.  The  discipline  which  the 
study  of  elocution  prescribes,  will  enable  him  to  acquire  that 
command  over  his  organs  by  which  he  may  easily  execute 
every  transition  and  change  of  expression,  which  appropriate 
utterance  or  action  requires.  He  will  thus  learn  to  substitute, 
for  his  pipe  with  one  note,  or  his  harp  with  one  string,  the 
natural,  varied  and  powerful  effect  of  man's  living  voice, 
inspired  by  varied  emotion.  He  will  be  enabled  to  resume 
something  of  that  vivid  effect  of  bodily  attitude  and  motion, 
which  made  him,  in  childhood,  the  envied  model  of  the  ora- 
tor, in  the  freedom,  variety,  and  efficacy  of  his  expressive 
action.     The  ever-varying  style  of  Scripture  will,  thenceforth, 


Wm  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

no  longer  be  misrepresented  by  his  flat  sameness  of  voice  ; 
the  inspiring  hymn  will  not  have  its  appropriate  effect  quench- 
ed by  the  morbid  dullness  of  his  heavy  style  of  reading  ;  nor 
"will  his  discourse  any  longer  operate,  by  its  '  sleepy  tune/  as 
a  soothing  soporific. 

The  diligent  cultivation  of  his  manner,  will  enable  the 
preacher  to  breathe  life  and  freshness  into  all  its  aspects,  and 
infuse  a  corresponding  effect  into  his  ministrations.  The  sub- 
jects which  he  presents,  will  naturally  assume  their  appropri- 
ate and  most  striking  lights,  and  fall  upon  the  mind  with  their 
full  force  of  effect.  His  hearers  instead  of  reiterating  the  old 
complaint  regarding  the  Sabbath,  '  What  a  weariness  it  is  !' 
will  leave  the  sanctuary  with  hearts  refreshed  and  reinvigo- 
rated,  and  minds  '  stirred  up'  anew  to  every  good  work  and 
every  noble  purpose. 


MANNERISM,  ADAPTATION,  APPROrRIATENESS. 

One  of  the  common  results  of  inadequate  or  misdirected 
early  culture,  in  regard  to  elocution,  is,  that  the  style  of 
young  speakers,  is  so  soon  permitted  to  settle  into  fixed  man- 
nerism. An  observer  who  has  opportunity  of  tracing  the 
successive  stages  of  development  in  individuals  who  are  sub- 
jected to  the  customary  routine  of  education,  will  perceive 
that  the  preacher  in  the  pulpit  bears,  upon  his  style  of  delive- 
ry, the  stamp  of  the  same  characteristics  by  which  he  was 
distinguished  as  a  youth  at  college,  and  as  a  boy  at  school. 
This  fact,  were  it  the  natural  consequence  of  the  growth  and 
evolution  of  individual  character  and  original  tendency, — 
were  it  a  spontaneous  product  of  genius, — would  be  not  only 
tolerable  but  positively  agreeable,  as  a  trait  of  elocution.  The 
objection  lies  in  the  obvious  fact,  that  the  manner  is  arbitra- 
ry and  conventional, — a  mere  matter  of  acquired  habit, — a 
compound  result  of  the  influence  of  academic  precedent  and 
example,  blending  with  a  few  accidental  peculiarities  of  per- 
sonal tendency.     For  the  speaker  in  the  pulpit  is  often  found 


.V    mannerism:.    ^'I  8^ 

reading  his  sermon  with  precisely  the  same  tones  and  inflec- 
tions, and  the  same  gestures,  with  which  he  declaimed  at 
school,  when  doing  his  best  to  play  the  juvenile  representa- 
tive of  Cicero  pleading  against  Yerres,  or  Chatham  rebuking 
the  inhumanity  of  Lord  Suffolk.  The  preacher  may  be  dis- 
coursing on  the  worth  of  the  soul,  and  the  vastness  of  eternal 
interests,  and  the  danger  of  tampering  with  them  ;  but  habit 
has  set  so  irrevocably  the  key  of  his  voice,  that  the  whole  ser- 
mon sounds, — sentence  for  sentence,  cadence  for  cadence, — 
an  exact  copy  of  the  utterance  with  which,  when  a  candidate 
for  college  honours,  he  read  his  essay  on  the  rhetorical  traits 
of  eminent  writers. 

The  habit  of  reading  and  declaiming  sentences  as  such, 
which  results  from  the  uniformity  of  custom  at  school,  con- 
verts every  paragraph  into  a  succession  of  detached  senti- 
ments, each  marked  by  an  identical  '  beginning,  middle  and 
end'  of  tone  in  the  voice  : — no  matter  what  the  difference  of 
style  or  of  subject.  A  similar  effect  is  produced  on  gesture. 
Action  is  limited  to  two  or  three  forms, — perhaps,  not  even 
more  than  one, — perpetually  recurring,  whether  the  natural 
emotion  connected  with  the  language  of  the  sentence  be  joy 
or  grief,  complacency  or  aversion,  courage  or  fear. 

An  early  culture  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  expression, 
would  make  the  young  pupil  sensitively  alive  to  the  differ- 
ence of  character  and  effect  in  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  as 
expressed  in  the  various  tones  of  the  voice,  and  the  diversified 
language  of  mien  and  action,  in  the  body.  It  would  convert 
the  human  organs  into  so  many  instruments  obedient  to  the 
skilful  touch ;  uttering,  with  unerring  certainty,  the  exact 
music  of  each  emotion,  as  it  rose  in  the  soul  of  the  speaker. 
It  would  impart  pliancy  and  grace  and  power  to  every  mem- 
ber of  the  corporeal  frame,  in  the  act  of  executing  the  forms 
in  which  imagination  naturally  imbodies  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  the  mind,  when  animated  by  the  spirit  of  commu- 
nication. Eloquence,  in  its  external  shape,  would  thus  re- 
semble the  natural  effect  of  the  shifting  lights  and  shades  and 
the  changing  colours  of  the  mental  scene. 


84  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Elocution,  were  it  duly  cultivated,  would  teach  the  student 
that  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  one  tone,  one  pitch,  one 
force,  one  inflection,  one  uniform  melody,  and  one  sing-song 
cadence,  is  as  untrue  to  nature,  and  to  the  facts  of  language 
and  sentiment,  as  it  is  false  to  feeling,  and  to  the  ear.  The 
study  of  elocution  would  teach  the  indispensable  lesson,  that 
one  sentiment  inspires  one  look  and  action,  and  another,  ano- 
ther,— that  there  is  no  more  truth  or  consistency  in  using  one 
movement  of  the  arm,  or  one  attitude  of  the  body,  for  every 
sentiment  and  every  sentence,  than  there  would  be  in  using 
one  form  of  words,  for  the  structure  of  every  period  in  a  dis- 
course. The  natural  shadings  of  emotion  and  sympathy,  are, 
in  fact,  infinitely  more  diversified  in  the  aspect  and  expres- 
Mon  of  the  countenance  and  the  person  of  the  speaker,  than 
they  can  ever  become  in  the  most  pliant  phrases  of  speech. 

The  negligent  speaker  often  justifies  his  mannerism,  on  the 
ground  of  personality.  Speaking  of  his  prominent  faults,  he 
will  say,  *  This  is  my  natural  manner :  I  like  to  see  individu- 
aUty  of  style  in  delivery,  as  in  all  other  forms  of  expression ; 
and  this  trait  constitutes  mine.  I  cannot  change  it  for  anoth- 
er ;  because  that  other,  though  perhaps  better  in  itself,  would 
not  be  natural  to  me.'  This  reasoning  would  be  as  sound 
as  it  is  plausible  in  itself  and  comforting  to  indolence,  were 
habit  and  nature  invariably  the  same  in  individuals,  and  were 
manner  inevitable  and  immutable,  like  Richter's  cast-metal 
king.  But  manner  in  expression  is  the  most  plastic  of  all 
things :  it  can  be  moulded,  at  will,  to  whatever  shape  a  de- 
cisive resolution  and  a  persevering  spirit  determine.  Atten- 
tive cultivation  will  reform,  renovate,  and  re-create,  here,  as 
extensively  as  elsewhere.  It  will  enable  the  individual  to 
shake  ofi"  the  old  and  put  on  the  new  vesture  of  habit,  and  to 
wear  it,  too,  with  perfect  ease,  as  the  true  and  the  natural  garb 
of  expression.  For  all  genuine  culture  is  but  the  cherishing 
or  the  resuscitating  of  nature. 

A  good  writer  is  recognized  by  that  perfect  command  of  his 
pen,  which  enables  him  to  vary  his  language  with  his  subject ; 
and  he  is  the  most  successful  in  written  expression,  who  can 


MANNERISM.  SiS- 

most  easily  and  effectually  give  the  changing  aspect  of  thought 
its  shifting  hue  of  style.  So  it  is  with  the  good  speaker : 
his  manner  ever  varies  with  his  subject :  with  him,  every 
passing  emotion  has  its  appropriate  mode  of  utterance- 
He  is  like  the  skilful  and  accomplished  performer  who- 
ranges  over  the  whole  compass  of  his  instrument,  ancfe 
forever  draws  forth  new  echoes  of  sympathy  from  the  hearty 
in  response  to  its  changing  tones.  The  natural  and  effective 
speaker,  by  the  eloquence  of  his  varying  utterance,  infuses 
fresh  life  into  thought,  and  affects  the  soul  of  his  hearers  as 
the  breath  of  morning  or  of  spring.  The  factitious  style  of 
the  mannerist,  when  it  is  strongly  marked,  attracts  our  atten- 
tion to  itself,  and  obscures  our  impression  of  his  thought ;  but,, 
even  when  it  is  comparatively  weak,  it  still  hangs  as  a  veil 
between  the  subject  and  the  hearer's  mind :  its  tendency  is 
not  to  add  but  subtract  effect ;  it  deducts  something  from  the 
impression  which  would  otherwise  have  been  made.  A  man- 
ner well  adapted  to  matter,  is  not  merely  a  transparent  medi- 
um :  it  sheds  light  on  the  objects  of  the  mental  scene  :  it  has 
the  kindling  effect  of  sunlight  on  the  landscape  ;  it  brings  out 
into  distinct  and  impressive  effect,  the  form,  colour,  and  cha-^ 
racter  of  whatever  it  touches. 

To  remove  the  defects  of  mannerism,  and  to  secure  the  ad^- 
vantages  of  adaptation  and  appropriateness  in  delivery,  the 
speaker's  great  aim  should  be  to  lose  himself  in  his  subject, 
and  in  every  successive  part  of  it,  as  it  is  developed  in  the 
progress  of  his  discourse.  His  style  will  thus  acquire  its  pro- 
per analogy  to  the  sunlight  and  the  shade,  the  life  and  the  re- 
pose, the  alternate  brilliancy  and  the  depth  of  effect,  which 
nature  gives  when  sun  and  shadow  are  shifting  over  the  field, 
in  correspondence  with  the  passing  cloud.  The  mannerist 
holds  to  himself,  and  to  his  accidents  of  personal  habit, — and 
these  perhaps  quite  artificial, — rather  than  to  the  current  of 
his  thoughts  and  their  natural  accompaniment  of  emotion. 

The  speaker  who  is  desirous  of  possessing  the  charm  of  fit- 
ting manner,  will  train  his  voice  to  the  genuine  utterance  (^ 
every  tone  of  emotion  ;  he  will  endeavour  to  acquire  all  that 
8 


86  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

depth  which  the  most  impressive  of  his  themes  demand,  in 
those  tones  which  are  the  natural  expression  of  solemnity  and 
awe ;  he  will  cultivate  the  power  of  giving  voice  to  those 
thrilling  notes  of  joy  and  rapture,  in  which  the  lofty  strains  of 
sacred  lyrics  so  frequently  abound ;  he  will  study  the  effect 
of  force  and  grandeur  and  sublimity  in  swelling  the  tones 
of  praise  and  triumph ;  he  will  watch  the  transition  to  the 
subdued  and  softened  strains  of  penitence  and  contrition  ;  he 
will  distinguish  the  slow  movement  of  pathetic  and  solemn 
emotion  from  the  accelerated  utterance  of  cheerful  and  lively 
expression.  His  outward  manner,  in  attitude  and  action,  will 
be  as  various  as  his  voice :  he  will  evince  the  inspiration  of 
appropriate  feeling  in  the  very  posture  of  his  frame  ;  in  utter- 
ing the  language  of  adoration,  the  slow-moving,  uplifted  hand 
will  bespeak  the  awe  and  solemnity  which  pervade  his  soul ; 
in  addressing  his  fellow-men  in  the  spirit  of  an  ambassador  of 
Christ,  the  gentle  yet  earnest  spirit  of  persuasive  action,  will 
be  evinced  in  the  pleading  hand  and  aspect ;  he  will  know, 
also,  how  to  pass  to  the  stern  and  authoritative  mien  of  the  re- 
prover of  sin  ;  he  will,  on  due  occasions,  indicate,  in  his  kind- 
ling look  and  rousing  gesture,  the  mood  of  him  who  is  em- 
powered and  commanded  to  summon  forth  all  the  energies 
of  the  human  soul ;  his  subdued  and  chastened  address  will 
carry  the  sympathy  of  his  spirit  into  the  bosom  of  the  mourn- 
er ;  his  moistening  eye  and  his  gentle  action  will  manifest 
his  teilderness  for  the  suffering :  his  whole  soul  will,  in  a 
word,  become  legible  in  his  features,  in  his  attitude,  in  the 
expressive  eloquence  of  his  hand ;  his  whole  style  will  be  felt 
to  be  that  of  heart  communing  with  heart. 

The  mannerist  in  speaking  is  often  cut  off  from  the  possi- 
bility of  attaining  to  the  effects  of  genuine  eloquence,  by  the 
inappropriateness  of  his  fixed  habit  to  the  language  and  the 
sentiment  which  he  is  uttering.  Mannerism  is  usually  the 
predominance  of  one  trait,  which  has  more  or  less  exclusive 
character  attached  to  it.  The  vehement  mannerist,  accord- 
ingly, when  addressing  the  sufferer  whose  heart  is  well-nigh 
^crushed  under  the  weight  of  calamity,  jars  the  whole  sympa- 


MANNERISM.  88^ 

thetic  nature  of  his  hearer,  by  the  inappropriate  and  revolt- 
ing violence  of  his  tone  and  action.  His  very  consolations 
may  assume  the  expression  of  scolding.  The  feeble  manner- 
ist, when  employed  to  arouse  an  assembly  from  spiritual  su- 
pineness,  soothes  them  to  sleep  by  his  lifeless  humming  tone, 
and  the  sway  of  his  waving,  spiritless  action. 

One  of  the  most  obvious  traits  of  mannerism,  and  one 
which  nothing  but  the  assiduous  practice  of  elocution  can  do 
away,  is  that  mode  of  utterance  which  is,  in  popular  phrase, 
called  '  a  tone.'  The  fault  impHed  by  this  term,  consists  in 
the  continual  recurrence  of  a  particular  mode  of  voice,  in  em- 
phasis, inflection,  cadence,  or  '  expression,'*  but,  more  fre- 
quently, in  the  '  melody,'t  or  peculiar  notes,  which  character- 
ize a  speaker's  vocal  habits. 

This  species  of  mannerism  in  speech,  has  been  expressly 
designated  by  Dr.  Rush,  the  great  analyst  of  elocution,  as  a 
*  drift'  or  obvious  tendency  of  voice,  in  the  effect  of  one  re- 
peated trait  of  utterance,  on  the  ear.  Every  passion,  or 
strain  of  emotion,  has  a  distinctive  '  drift,' — a  tendency  to  re- 
peat certain  qualities  of  expression  ;  and  the  effect  arising 
from  change  of  direction  in  '  drift,'  by  the  natural  shifting  of 
the  vocal  current,  with  every  new  emotion,  in  successive  pas- 
sages, constitutes  a  marked  peculiarity  of  animated,  true,  and 
expressive  style, — alike  in  conversation,  in  reading,  and  in 
public  speaking. 

The  fault  of  mannerism  in  utterance,"  substitutes,  for  this 
appropriate  variation  of  voice,  an  arbitrary  recurrence  of 
sound,  not  authorized  or  required  by  the  nature  of  the  emo- 
tion which,  in  a  given  passage,  ought  to  set  the  key  and  guide 
the  style.     The  reader,  in  consequence  of  this  fault,  utters 

*  The  peculiar  effect  of  feeling,  or  emotion,  on  the  voice ;  as  when  we 
speak  of  the  tone  of  anger,  or  of  pity. 

t  The  effect  of  sound  as  depending  on  the  succession  of  notes  which  the 
voice  executes  in  a  given  strain,  clause,  or  phrase-  Thus,  awe  is  charac- 
terized by  the  recurrence  of  low  notes,  and  inclines  to  monotony ;  joy,  tra- 
verses the  scale,  from  low  to  high,  and  from  high  to  low,  and  is  marked  by 
variety ;  interrogation  slides  up  the  scale  ;  and  the  cadence  of  a  sentence 
gHdes  downward. 


0»  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

not  the  meaning  and  spirit  of  his  author's  language,  but  the 
song  of  his  own  arbitrary  and  accidental  habit.  He  does  not 
change  the  character  of  his  utterance,  with  the  varying  senti- 
ments of  the  composition  ;  but  while  the  most  striking  changes 
of  feeling  are  obviously  indicated  in  the  phrases  which  he  is 
enunciating,  he  continues  to  repeat  his  identical  melody,  with 
no  attempt  at  variation.  He  goes  on  executing,  with  unde- 
viating  precision,  one  and  the  same  inflection  at  every  com- 
ma, and  one  and  the  same  cadence  at  every  period, — be  the 
sense  or  the  feeling  of  the  sentence  what  it  may.  His  voice 
is  like  a  hand-organ  set  to  but  one  tune  :  it  may  be  kept  go- 
ing by  the  hour,  the  day,  or  the  year ;  yet  it  will  give  out 
but  the  same  succession  of  sounds. 

A  ready  ear  may  catch  a  preventive  lesson,  as  regards  this 
fault,  by  listening  to  the  natural  variations  of  voice,  in  conver- 
sation, and  thus  enable  the  reader  to  mould  his  utterance  to 
diversity  of  effect.  But  empiric  methods  imply  no  definite 
and  certain  aims,  and  consequently  no  sure  results.  The 
reader  or  the  speaker  who  aims  at  the  style  of  conversation, 
as  his  model,  if  he  succeeds  in  bringing  his  vocal  habits  out 
of  mechanical  and  unmeaning  '  drift,' — if  he  frees  himself 
from  the  formalities  of  a  mere  '  reading  tone,' — is  apt,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  acquire  that  characteristic  'drift'  of  mere  con- 
versational style,  which  is,  literally,  a  '  talking  tone,' — too 
versatile,  too  vivacious  for  the  dignity  of  public  reading  or 
speaking, — and  fit  only  for  easy  and  careless  communication 
by  the  fireside. 

The  power  of  applying  musical  distinctions  to  the  varying 
sounds  of  the  voice,  will  be  of  great  service  to  the  reader,  by 
rendering  his  ear  discriminating  as  to  vocal  effect.  But  the 
modes  of  voice  which  come  under  the  special  cognizance  of 
elocution,  must  be  studied  by  themselves,  in  exact  detail,  by 
all  who  wish  to  acquit  themselves  thoroughly  to  the  duty  of 
public  speaking.  The  close  analysis  which  Dr.  Rush  has 
exemplified  in  his  Philosophy  of  the  Voice,*  enables  every 

♦  The  manual  of  Orthophony,  prepared  by  Mr.  Murdoch  and  the  au- 
thor of  this  volume,  contains  a  practical  exposition  of  Dr.  Rush's  system. 


INDIVIDUALITY  OF  MANNER.  89 

student  who  is  willing  to  take  the  pains,  to  become  expert  in 
the  discrimination  and  execution  of  every  point  of  vocal  ex- 
pression. The  application  of  the  elementary  distinctions  ex- 
hibited in  that  treatise,  will  effectually  remove  every  trait  of 
factitious  manner  from  vocal  habit  in  elocution. 


INDIVIDUALITY  OF  MANNER. 

Mannerism  in  delivery  not  unfrequently  passes  for  the  real 
excellence  of  individuality  in  style, — a  trait  which,  so  far  from 
possessing  any  artificial  character,  is  the  expression  of  spon- 
taneous life  and  eloquence.  But  this  feature  of  expressive 
power,  is,  like  many  others,  depressed  by  the  deadening  influ- 
ence of  formality  and  routine  in  education.  Boys  at  school 
are  left  to  sink  into  one  uniform  mould,  in  their  habits  of  ut- 
terance and  action  :  their  exercises  possess  so  little  life  and 
interest  to  their  minds,  that  to  perform  such  tasks  with  natu- 
ral spirit,  and  as  a  part  of  their  own  mental  action  and  expe- 
rience, is  impossible.  Juvenile  declamation,  accordingly, 
wears,  in  most  instances,  the  second-hand  air  of  a  thing  done 
as  others  do  it,  and  because  others  do  it.  It  is  allowed  to 
consist  of  a  certain  unmeaning  loudness  of  voice,  a  singing 
and  swelling  utterance,  and  a  given  upraising  of  the  hand, — 
all  bearing  the  stamp  of  prescription,  and  habit,  and  average 
style.  The  formality,  indeed,  of  the  usual  staple  of  language 
in  declamation,  seems,  of  itself,  to  prescribe  just  such  uniform 
manner  in  every  speaker  :  there  is  nothing  in  it  which  speaks 
to  the  heart  of  the  individual,  and  brings  out  the  inner  man, 
with  his  own  peculiar  tones,  and  looks,  and  actions. 

Could  teachers  and  parents  be  content  to  let  boys  utter 
their  own  sentiments  in  their  own  language,  the  result  of  ex- 
ercises in  speaking  would  be  very  different  from  what  it  is. 
Boys  would,  in  that  case,  speak  as  boys,  not  as  'potent,  grave, 
and  reverend'  seniors.  Every  juvenile  speaker  would  give 
his  heart  to  his  work,  and  would  bring  out  his  own  manner. 
8* 


W  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

The  teacher  would  then  take  his  true  place  as  a  friendly 
guide,  prompter,  and  aid,  not  as  a  cool  critic  and  ex-post-facto 
executioner :  he  would  assist  the  pupil  in  bringing  out  his 
native  impulses  of  thought  and  feeling,  in  forms  adapted  to 
his  own  nature.  Speaking  would  thus  become  a  spontaneous 
and  pleasurable  function  of  the  individual ;  habit  would  grow 
into  natural  and  accordant  forms,  revealing  the  genuine  men- 
tal life  that  lay  under  them. 

The  prevalence  of  neglect  and  perversion,  in  our  customa- 
ry modes  of  education,  suffers  every  youth,  as  he  enters  a 
place  of  instruction,  to  be  cast  into  the  academic  mould,  and 
come  out  precisely  like  the  rest.  He  carries  with  him,  ac- 
cordingly, into  subsequent  stages  of  life,  the  impress  which 
Jie  has  thus  received :  the  school  tone,  somewhat  deepened 
and  amplified,  and  the  school  gesture,  somewhat  strengthened, 
may  clearly  be  traced  in  the  man,  even  at  the  bar  and  in  the 
pulpit. 

The  effects  of  neglect  and  of  erroneous  training,  are  con- 
spicuous in  the  prevalence  of  uniformity  of  manner  among 
clergymen.  The  act  of  delivering  a  discourse  is  apparently, 
in  many  cases,  a  process  of  repeating  certain  prescribed  tones 
and  gestures  which  every  individual  is  expected  to  go  through 
very  much  like  all  others.  The  natural  diversity  of  temper- 
ament and  character,  is  not, — to  judge  by  appearances, — 
considered  an  appropriate  element  of  effect. 

A  good  speaker,  it  is  true,  will  always  merge  himself  in 
his  subject,  and  never  obtrude  himself  at  its  expense.  But 
thought,  even  the  most  abstract,  when  it  passes  into  expres- 
sion, is,  like  the  purest  water,  naturally  subjected  to  the  tinge 
of  the  channel  through  which  it  flows.  The  individuality  of 
the  man  should  never  be  lost  in  the  formal  function  of  the 
speaker.  There  is  no  law  of  necessity  that  every  sermon 
should  be  a  succession  of  low  and  hollow  tones,  false  inflec- 
tions, mechanical  cadences,  and  stereotype  gestures ; — the 
whole  manner  so  proverbially  unnatural,  that,  among  juvenile 
classes  at  school,  when  one  pupil  would  sum  up,  in  one  ex- 
pressive word,  his  criticism  on  a  fellow-pupil  who  has  spoken 


INDIVIDUALITY  OF  MANNER.  91 

in  a  heavy,  uniform  syle,  he  says  of  him,  *  He  does  not  speak, 
he  preaches.^ 

The  study  of  elocution,  if  it  were  duly  attended  to,  as  a 
part  of  early  education,  would  enable  the  young  speaker  to 
recognize  and  trace  the  natural  differences  of  manner,  which 
ought  to  exist  in  individuals,  in  their  modes  of  applying  the 
same  general  principles.  The  genuine  characteristics  of  ex- 
pression, are  so  numerous  and  varied,  that  they  afford  vast 
scope  for  the  natural  diversity  of  action,  in  different  mental 
and  physical  constitutions.  The  elements  of  effect,  blended 
in  one  expressive  tone,  amount  sometimes  to  more  than  six 
or  eight,  even  in  the  unstudied  utterance  of  a  person  utterly 
illiterate.  The  temperament  and  tendency  of  an  individual, 
therefore,  may  well  be  expected  to  cause  him  to  lean  to  one 
more  than  others  among  these  elements. 

The  enunciation,  for  example,  of  the  phrase  of  devotional 
address,  "  O  Lord !"  may  receive  its  reverential  effect,  in  the 
utterance  of  one  speaker,  from  its  deep  and  solemn  pitch, 
chiefly ;  in  that  of  another,  from  its  majestic  fullness  and 
swell ;  in  that  of  a  third,  from  its  prolongation  and  slowness 
of  sound ;  whilst  all  these  properties  may  still  be  traced  uni- 
ted in  the  style  of  each  ;  with  this  distinction,  only,  that  while 
one  quality  preponderates  in  one  speaker,  another  may  in  an- 
other. A  similar  remark  applies  to  gesture.  Constitution 
and  temperament  may  incline  one  speaker  to  one  shade  of 
difference  in  the  line  or  the  force  of  an  action,  and  another  to 
another ;  and  yet  both  may  coincide  in  the  general  style  and 
effect. 

Our  prevalent  modes  of  education  permit  all  individual 
tendencies  to  be  swallowed  up  in  one  engulfing  routine  of 
neglect  or  prescription.  The  preacher,  therefore,  under  the 
influence  of  such  early  training,  comes  before  us  divested  of 
that  native  originality  of  manner,  which  is  so  distinctly  felt 
as  the  eloquence  of  private  communication.  To  recover  his 
individuality,  he  must  reform  and  renovate  his  whole  style  of 
speaking,  so  as  to  let  his  own  nature  shine  through  it.  In 
address,  heart '  only  is  the  loan  for'  heart.     But  how  seldom 


M 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


can  its  throb  be  felt  through  the  enveloping  folds  of  false  and 
formal  habit ! 

The  preacher  who  would  successfully  discharge  the  duty  of 
his  office,  must  acquire  the  power  of  throwing  his  personal 
character  into  his  manner.  Mere  elocution  is  a  poor  substi- 
tute for  the  living  sympathy  of  soul  in  the  man  who  addres- 
ses us.  The  former,  even  when  it  is  perfect,  gains  only  ad- 
miration :  the  latter  wins  the  whole  heart,  and  convinces  the 
mind,  at  once,  of  the  speaker's  sincerity,  and  of  the  truth  of 
what  he  utters. 

We  hear,  sometimes,  a  just  complaint  of  the  influence  and 
tendency  of  ceremony  in  religion.  But  no  robing  or  costume 
so  eflfectually  enwraps  the  soul,  as  a  ceremonious  tone,  which 
offers  to  the  ear  the  language  of  the  office  and  not  of  the  man. 


DIGNITY,  FAMILIARITY. 

Man's  upright  form  and  noble  stature  are  naturally  attend- 
ed by  dignity  in  movement  and  action.  An  erect  attitude,  a 
lofty  can-iage,  a  commanding  air,  are  characteristic  even  of 
the  savage  who  spends  his  days  in  little  else  than  asserting 
his  dominion  over  the  brutes,  or  communicating  with  his  fel- 
lows whose  habits  are  but  a  little  more  elevated  than  those  of 
the  animals  which  they  hunt  Civilized  life,  by  its  enervat- 
ing influence,  brings  down  the  erect  and  heroic  mien,  and  the 
fearless  demeanour,  which  are  natural  to  man,  while  con- 
sciously sufficient  to  himself,  and  independent  of  factitious 
support.  The  courtesy  and  the  condescensions  of  refinement, 
bring  along  with  them  tameness  and  feebleness  in  manner 
and  in  character  :  a  bland  and  flexible  exterior  takes,  in  the 
forms  of  conventional  habit,  the  place  of  the  manly  and  ma- 
jestic port  of  nature. 

The  transition  from  childhood  to  manhood,  is  attended 
with  similar  effects  on  the  aspect  and  deportment  of  the  hu- 
man being.  The  unconscious,  unabashed  child  exhibits, 
often,  the  noblest  forms  of  attitude  and  action.     The  school- 


DIGNITY,  FAMILIARITY.  98 

boy  loses  his  self-possession,  and  shrinks  and  cowers,  in  the 
consciousness  of  being  observed :  he  lacks  the  decision,  the 
firmness,  and  the  dignity  of  manner,  which  he  possessed  in 
earlier  life,  when  mingling  with  his  equals  and  companions. 
The  bearing  of  the  youth  gives  still  stronger  evidence  of  be- 
ing vitiated  by  self-consciousness,  and  overweening  regard  for 
the  estimation  of  others.  The  speaker,  who,  in  the  maturity 
of  manhood,  addresses  his  fellow-beings,  manifests,  not  un- 
frequently,  in  his  crest-fallen  air,  in  his  hesitating  utterance 
and  embarrassed  actions,  his  want  of  conscious  elevation  and 
power,  and  betrays  the  fact  that  he  does  not  approach  the 
task  with  a  manly  reliance  on  himself  and  his  subject.  Self- 
respect  seems  to  desert  him,  when  subjected  to  observation  : 
his  nature  appears  to  shrink,  rather  than  to  expand,  with  the 
circumstances  in  which  he  is  placed. 

Eloquence,  the  result  of  expressive  power,  is  a  thing  unat- 
tainable in  such  a  situation;  for  eloquence  implies  freedom, 
manly  firmness,  and  force,  a  genuine  moral  courage,  a  con- 
scious elevation  of  soul,  a  positive  inspiration  of  mind.  It 
presupposes  that  the  speaker  stands,  for  the  moment,  above 
those  whom  he  addresses,  for  the  very  purpose  of  lifting  them 
up  to  the  level  of  his  own  views,  and  inspiring  them  with  his 
own  feelings.  The  persuasive  condescension  of  the  orator  is 
never  incompatible  with  the  native  majesty  of  man. 

The  preacher,  more  than  any  other  speaker,  should  evince 
a  just  consciousness  of  the  noble  nature  of  his  commission. 
Haughtiness,  undoubtedly,  or  arrogance  of  manner,  is  utterly 
incompatible  with  the  meek  spirit  of  the  Christian  minister. 
But  a  due  sense  of  the  dignity  of  his  office,  should  breathe  an 
air  of  genuine  nobleness  into  all  his  expression.  It  should 
equally  forbid  a  disturbing  and  degrading  consciousness  of  the 
presence  of  his  fellow-men,  and  an  unbecoming  remissness  or 
familiarity  of  manner,  on  his  own  part,  by  which  he  migh  t 
seem  to  let  down  his  just  self-respect,  or  his  regard  for  the 
sacred  function  which  he  is  called  to  perform. 

One  mode  of  address  by  which  the  pulpit  is' lowered  in  the 
estimation  of  the  world,  is  that  undignified  familiarity  of  tone, 


94  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

which  some  preachers  assume,  under  the  impression  that  such 
a  manner  is  the  proper  way  to  be  easy  and  natural  in  utte- 
rance, and  thus  to  gain  access  to  the  minds  of  their  hearers. 
The  line,  in  such  cases,  is  not  drawn  between  conversation 
and  mere  talk, — much  less  between  private  and  public  con- 
versation. Simplicity,  naturalness,  and  directness  of  style, 
all  demand  an  analogy  to  serious  and  elevated  conversation, 
in  the  utterance  of  the  preacher.  But  the  dignity  of  the  pul- 
pit forbids  all  talking  familiarity  and  slipshod  ease  which  bor- 
der on  carelessness  of  air  and  manner.  The  sacredness  of 
association  with  which  the  place  and  the  man  are  invested, 
should  be  felt  by  the  preacher,  not  less  than  the  people,  as  a 
barrier  of  sanctity  against  every  freedom  which  tends  to  dese- 
crate the  pulpit. 

The  leaning  and  lounging  attitudes,  and  the  slack,  familiar 
gestures  in  which  some  preachers  permit  themselves  to  in- 
dulge, bear  more  resemblance  to  the  air  of  the  toil-worn  rus- 
tic, resting  his  wearied  frame  on  the  fence-rail,  as  he  chats 
with  his  neighbour  at  the  close  of  the  day,  than  to  the  de- 
portment of  one  who  is  or  should  be  fulfilling  a  nobler  func- 
tion than  was  ever  imagined  in  the  highest  conceptions  of  the 
ancient  orator.  It  is  true  that  dignity  is  not  stiffness,  nor  de- 
corum constraint.  But  some  speakers  in  the  pulpit  seem 
never  to  have  drawn  the  line  that  separates  freedom  from 
negligence  and  slovenliness  of  manner,  ease  and  self-posses- 
sion from  low  familiarity  and  nonchalance.  If  there  is  one 
spot  on  earth  where  the  stamp  of  vulgar  habit  and  association 
is  disgusting,  it  is  the  pulpit,  which  even  the  grossest  minds 
are  inclined  to  regard  with  veneration.  Nor  is  it  going  too 
far,  to  assert,  that  nothing  has  so  strong  a  tendency  to  dimin- 
ish the  proper  influence  of  the  pulpit,  as  the  remissness  of  its 
occupant,  regarding  the  first  requirements  of  personal  dignity 
in  him  who  conducts  the  oflSce  of  public  worship,  and  pre- 
sents, for  the  time,  the  living  impersonation  of  religious  sen- 
timent.* 

♦  The  slovenly  habit  of  former  years,  of  allowing  the  hand  to  repose 
in  the  pocket,  used  to  extend,  itself  to  some  pulpits.  A  negative  rule  of  at- 


DIGNITY,  FAMILIARITY.  95 

A  few  hours'  attention  to  the  subject  would  enable  the 
preacher  to  recognize  the  appropriate  traits  of  becoming  dig- 
nity and  elevation  of  manner,  and  to  avoid  habits  which  are 
offensive  to  the  general  sense  of  propriety,  not  less  than  to 
refined  taste.  A  single  glance  at  the  mirror  in  his  room, 
while  the  speaker  was  at  practice,  would  be  the  most  effectu- 
al admonition  to  guard  against  those  writhings  of  the  body, 
noddings  of  the  head,  and  jerkings  of  the  arm,  which  degrade 
the  preacher  into  the  free  and  easy  debater  at  a  club-meeting. 
A  few  weeks'  study  of  the  principles  of  gesture,  would  open 
up  to  the  mind  a  whole  world  of  association,  and  of  law  and 
principle,  regarding  attitude  and  action.  It  would  mould  the 
speaker's  whole  outward  man  anew,  and,  at  least,  cut  off  the 
glaring  errors  of  habit,  if  it  did  not  inspire  appropriateness 
and  grace. 

The  stately  dignity  of  deportment,  which,  in  former  years, 
was  the  distinguishing  trait  of  the  Christian  gentleman  and 
accomplished  scholar,  in  the  pulpit,  has  passed  away  with  the 
noble  race  of  men  who  exemplified  its  effects.  The  polish  of 
private  life  from  which  it  sprung,  has,  to  say  the  least,  obvi- 
ously declined.  But  the  change  leaves  something  wanting 
to  the  heart.     The  authoritative  mien  of  the  old  divine,  had, 

titude  is,  in  all  forms  of  address,  that  the  speaker's  right  hand  should  be 
by  his  side,  when  not  raised  in  gesture,  as  the  very  dropping  and  the  still- 
ness of  the  hand  are  properly  parts  of  the  effect  of  gesture.  The  act  of 
addressing  a  public  assembly,  implies  that  the  speaker  is  in  possession 
of  sufficient  health  and  strength  to  stand  on  his  feet,  and  to  support  his 
own  weight.  It  forbids,  therefore,  the  sluggish  habit  of  leaning  on  sur- 
rounding objects.  Dignity  of  carriage  forbids  equally  the  indolent  air 
produced  by  resting  one  hand  on  the  side,  on  the  back,  or  anywhere  on 
the  speaker's  person.  Convenience  and  freedom  of  manner  allow  the 
left  hand  to  repose  on  or  near  the  speaker's  notes,  so  as  to  execute,  when 
needful,  the  indispensable  act  of  turning  the  leaves.  But  nothing  can 
warrant  the  unseemly,  uncouth,  and  awkward  habit  of  supporting  the 
body  with  each  hand  resting  on  one  side  of  the  cushion,  or  that  of  repos- 
ing with  one  elbow  embedded  in  it.  The  former  trick  leads,  unavoida- 
bly, to  the  consummation  of  ungainly  appearance,  by  rendering  it  neces- 
sary that,  when  the  speaker  becomes  earnest,  he  should  manifest  it  by 
wriggling  his  vertebral  column,  instead  of  obeying  nature's  law,  and  using 
his  hand  in  gesture. 


96  PTTLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

perhaps,  something  in  it  of  the  arrogance  of  office.  But  in 
taking  away  the  conventional  elevation  of  manner,  we  have 
removed  with  it,  a  portion  of  genuine  dignity.  The  reforma- 
tion which  has  *  popularized'  the  pulpit,  has  lowered  its  tone, 
and  limited  its  influence  on  the  preacher  as  well  as  on  the 
people. 


FORMALITY,  PRIMNESS,  RIGIDITY. 

One  effect  of  manner,  which  impairs  the  life  of  pulpit  elo- 
quence, is  formality  of  style.  A  professional,  ceremonious 
intonation,  and  a  technical,  measured  solemnity  of  mien  and 
action,  are  the  characteristics  of  this  mode  of  delivery.  The 
speaker's  whole  aspect,  his  voice,  and  his  gestures,  are,  in 
consequence  of  this  fault,  thrown,  apparently,  into  a  mechan- 
ical mould  which  has  left  its  impress  on  the  whole  man,  and 
prevents  the  possibility  of  his  expressing  himself  with  a  nat- 
ural, life-like  effect. 

Preachers  of  this  class  are  distinguished  by  a  marble  fix- 
edness of  features,  an  habitual  upturned  eye,  a  heavy,  hollow, 
and  uniform  tone,  a  rigid  and  laborious  style  of  movement 
and  action.  This  stereotype  manner  precludes  everything 
like  adaptation  to  change  of  circumstances  or  of  subject.  The 
man  becomes,  in  such  cases,  too  much  of  an  automaton,  to 
impart  spiritual  or  intellectual  life  to  others.  He  kills  rather 
than  awakens  sympathy :  he  renders  himself  incapable  of 
arousing  or  interesting  the  mind.  His  fixed  formality  of 
manner  converts  devotion  into  ceremony,  and  worship  into 
soulless  routine  :  it  renders  preaching  an  unmeaning  and  un- 
profitable piece  of  custom. 

Solemnity  and  decorum  are,  undoubtedly,  the  aim  of  the 
speaker,  in  all  such  instances  of  manner.  But  the  mechani- 
cal and  laboured  style,  and  the  literal  character  of  the  whole 
affair,  produce,  unavoidably,  an  exterior  rather  than  an  inte- 
rior effect.     The  origin  of  the  fault  of  formality,  seems  to  be 


FORMALITr.  97 

the  general  impression,  stamped  in  early  life,  that  the  pulpit 
is  necessarily  associated  with  certain  looks  and  tones.  The 
preacher  himself  yields  unconsciously  to  the  influence  of  such 
impressions,  and  complies  with  it,  in  his  manner  of  speaking.. 
The  result  is  that  he  moulds  his  style  into  a  decorous  gravity^. 
or  a  deep  solemnity,  more  than  into  an  earnest  and  living  ex- 
pression of  his  personal  sentiments.  He  assumes,  uninten- 
tionally, an  air  and  an  utterance  which  are  not,  properly,, 
his  own,  but  part  and  parcel  of  his  profession. 

The  study  of  elocution  prescribes  the  easy  and  certain  rem- 
edy for  such  habits,  by  accustoming  the  speaker  to  analyze 
his  tones,  and  trace  distinctly  the  difference  between  the  mode 
of  voice  which  betrays  a  factitious  utterance,  and  that  which 
comes  warm  and  true  from  the  heart,  with  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment  fresh  upon  it.  The  preparatory  discipline  in  elo- 
cution would  enable  the  student  to  awaken  and  vivify  his 
voice,  and  modulate  its  expression  into  the  natural  variations 
of  personal  feeling,  without  which  there  can  neither  be  life 
nor  eloquence  in  speech. 

Formality,  in  the  case  of  some  speakers,  assumes  the  fee- 
ble form  of  primness  of  manner,  with  its  sparing  voice,  pre- 
cise articulation,  nice  emphasis,  fastidious  inflection,  meagre 
tone,  and  mincing  gesture.  This  prudery  of  style  is  not  un- 
frequently  exemplified  in  the  pulpits  of  New  England,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  anxious  precision  and  exactness  of  habit 
which  are  so  general  as  local  traits.  The  speaker's  whole 
manner  seems,  in  consequence  of  this  tendency,  to  be  weigh- 
ed and  given  out  with  the  most  scrupulous  and  cautious  re- 
gard to  rigorous  accuracy  of  effect  in  petty  detail.  Elocution, 
becomes,  in  such  cases,  a  parallel  to  the  transplanted  tree^ 
trimmed  of  all  its  natural  life  and  beauty,  and,  for  the  time, 
resembling,  in  its  quaintness  and  rigidity,  rather  a  bare  pole, 
than  a  product  of  vegetable  nature. 

The  result  of  such  a  manner  is  to  anatomize  and  kill  feel- 
ing,— not  to  inspire  it :  the  head  is,  in  this  way,  allowed  to* 
take  the  place  of  the  heart.     Exact  discrimination  and  subtle 
nicety  of  intellect,  preponderate,  usually,  in  the  effect  of  such 
9 


98  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

speaking  on  the  hearer :  his  affections  are  left  unmoved :  he 
is  unconscious,  throughout  the  discourse,  of  one  manly  im- 
pulse or  strong  impression.  The  prim,  guarded,  neutralizing 
manner  of  the  preacher,  seems,  in  such  instances,  the  appro- 
priate style  of  coldness  and  scepticism,  rather  than  of  a  warm 
and  living  faith. 

The  fault  of  undue  precision  of  manner,  may  be  traced 
partly  to  the  influence  of  undue  anxiety  about  mere  literal 
exactness,  partly  to  the  absence  of  manly  force  and  indepen- 
dence of  character,  and  partly  to  faulty  education,  which  has 
led  the  speaker  to  pay  more  regard  to  the  effect  which  he 
produces  on  the  understanding  and  the  judgment,  than  that 
which  he  exerts  on  the  moral  sympathies  of  his  audience.* 
The  last  of  these  influences  accustoms  the  school-boy  to  pre- 
cision and  point  of  emphasis,  and  speciality  of  inflection,  more 
than  to  earnest  energy  of  utterance  and  impressive  emotion. 
Early  habit,  thus  directed,  leads  the  student  and  the  preacher 
to  a  corresponding  mode  of  address,  and  involves  all  the  de- 
fects of  an  over-pruned  manner,  with  its  unavoidable  results 
of  cool  and  fastidious  preciseness,  which  offers  nothing  to  the 
heart,  and  therefore  leaves  undone  the  great  business  for 
which  the  preacher  addresses  mankind. 

Formality  of  manner  in  speaking,  is  sometimes  caused,  in 
part,  by  an  unbending  rigidity  of  habit,  which  is  plainly  legi- 
ble in  the  unyielding  features,  stiff  postures,  and  stiff  gestures, 
of  some  preachers.  These  faults  of  habit  in  address,  are 
partly  owing  to  false  impressions  regarding  manly  firmness 
and  dignity,  partly  to  the  want  of  free  and  genial  and  exten- 
sive intercourse  with  the  world,  and  partly  to  an  early  culture 

*  An  impressive  lesson  on  the  futility  of  mere  preciseness,  used  to  be 
given  by  a  popular  lecturer  on  local  peculiarities  of  character,  to  his 
audiences  at  the  West,  in  a  humorous  delineation,  in  which  two  worthy 
Eastern  deacons  were  represented  as  discussing,  at  great  length,  and 
with  much  eaniestness,  the  comparative  significance  of  the  synonymous 
terms  rules  and  regulations.  The  parties,  after  much  expenditure  of 
logic,  "  concluded  upon  the  whole,  that  '  rules '  would  best  apply  to  a 
canal,  and  '  regulations '  to  a  railroad.^'' 


RIGIDITY.  99 

deficient   in  the  means  of  imparting  flexibility  and  grace  to 
the  mental  and  bodily  faculties. 

It  is  a  matter  of  frequent  observation  among  the  people  of 
other  countries,  and  a  fact  noted  also  by  English  writers, 
themselves,  that  the  characteristic  manner  of  the  English,  is 
ungainly  and  rigid,  in  comparison  with  that  of  other  nations. 
A  sullen  taciturnity  of  habit,  a  surly  brevity  of  reply,  a  con- 
strained stiffness  of  posture  and  motion,  and  a  confined,  reluc- 
tant gesture,  are  the  predominating  national  traits  in  daily 
intercourse.  The  New  P^nglander  seems  to  inherit  a  full 
share  of  the  hereditary  stiffness  and  constraint,  though  not  of 
the  taciturnity  and  bluffness  of  the  family  stock.  This  fea- 
ture of  the  common  lineage,  becomes  haughtiness  in  the  En- 
glishman. But  in  the  New  Englander  it  degenerates  into 
mere  rigidity  and  unmeaning  stiffness. 

A  genial  early  culture,  and  a  wide  intercourse  with  man- 
kind, tend  equally  to  render  the  human  being  plastic  and  flexi- 
ble :  they  give  him  the  power  and  the  spirit  of  self-adaptation ; 
they  give  him  ease  and  fluency  in  address,  and  the  power  of 
eliciting  sympathy  from  others.  But  the  general  defect  of 
established  modes  of  education,  is  that,  from  the  absence  of 
due  provision  for  the  development  of  man's  social  and  moral 
nature,  youth  is  left  destitute  of  appropriate  aids  to  the  forma- 
tion of  exterior  manner  in  the  daily  communications  of  pri- 
vate life,  and  in  the  function  of  public  speaking. 

Hence  it  happens  that  we  so  often  see  the  juvenile  speaker 
on  the  academic  stage,  rigid  in  posture,  and  awkward  in  move- 
ment and  action.  The  want  of  early  training  leaves  him  ut- 
terly deficient  in  the  natural  ease  and  grace  of  a  cultivated 
and  polished  youth.  His  body  seems  nailed  to  the  floor,  his 
members  galvanized  into  metallic  stiffness,  his  head  glued  to 
his  neck,  his  eye  motionless  in  its  socket,  his  arm  pinioned  to 
his  side.  His  whole  visible  mien  and  movement  are  those  of 
an  ill-adjusted  machine.  His  voice,  too,  possesses  the  same 
'inflexible  character,  in  its  monotonous  utterance. 

A  degree  of  this  style  continues  to  exert  its  injurious  influ- 
ence on  the  college  student  and  the  professional  man.     A 


100  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

rigid,  inflexible  air,  and  a  mechanical  stiffness  in  gesture,  are, 
accordingly,  in  many  instances,  the  habitual  style  of  the 
speaker  in  the  pulpit.  These  faults  unavoidably  attract  the 
attention  of  the  audience  to  the  preacher's  personal  manner, 
more  than  to  his  subject ;  as  a  messenger  of  ungainly,  rigid 
manner  and  aspect,  presents  himself,  rather  than  his  message, 
to  those  whom  he  accosts.  And,  even  when  the  mind  has 
become  somewhat  enured  to  the  fault  of  manner,  there  is  still 
a  hinderance  caused  by  it,  in  regard  to  any  effectual  access  to 
the  feelings.  Men  naturally  refuse  to  yield  the  sympathy  of 
the  heart  to  a  speaker  whose  manner  is  so  inappropriate  in 
point  of  judgment  and  taste.  The  stiflf  attitude  and  inflexible 
features  do  not  solicit  and  win  attention  ;  and  the  rigid  arm 
and  rigid  hand  are  incapable  of  executing  a  motion  which 
shall  come  as  an  appeal  to  the  heart. 

The  correctives  for  rigid  habit  in  a  speaker's  manner,  are, 
in  part,  to  be  sought  in  the  cultivation  and  refinement  of  taste, 
by  which  the  mind  is  guarded  against  every  uncouth  and  re- 
pulsive effect  in  expression.  An  excellent  remedial  influence 
will  always  be  derived  from  habitual  contact  with  the  ease 
and  polish  of  elevated  society.  The  meliorating  influence  of 
the  fine  arts  should  ever  be  solicited  by  the  student  whose 
purpose  is  to  addict  himself  to  public  speaking.  But  the  ex- 
press study  of  gesture,  as  a  part  of  elocution,  will  exert  the 
most  direct  influence  on  manner  and  habit.  It  will  lead  the 
student  to  discern  tlie  character  and  effect  of  every  attitude 
and  action  of  the  body.  It  will  teach  him  that  there  is  no 
escape  from  the  impression  which  external  manner  produces; 
that  the  speaker  who  neglects  this  part  of  elocution,  incurs  the 
effects  of  inappropriateness  and  awkwardness,  and,  sometimes, 
of  self-contradiction,  in  the  discrepance  between  the  style  of 
his  gesture  and  the  language  of  his  tongue ;  that  he  who  flat- 
ters himself  with  the  hope  of  escaping  inapppropriate  manner 
by  avoiding  action,  gives,  by  his  statue-like  and  motionless 
posture,  the  lie  to  any  earnestness  betrayed  in  his  voice. 
Earnestness  warms  and  impels  the  heart ;  and,  by  the  law  of 
our  constitution,  the  same  nerve  which  glows  and  quivers  at 


PROPRIETY    OP   MANNER.  101 

the  fountain  head  thrills  along  the  arm  to  the  expressive  hand, 
and  solicits  its  action.  The  rigid  speaker  who  attempts  to 
counteract  this  effect,  kills,  equally,  his  own  emotions  and 
those  of  his  audience :  he  destroys  the  natural  character  of 
communication,  and  defeats  its  purposes. 


PEOPRIETY  OF  MANNER. 

Nothing  so  effectually  prevents  the  existence  of  eloquence 
in  a  speaker's  manner,  as  a  fastidious  primness  in  his  style  of 
utterance  and  action,  which  hems  him  in  on  every  side,  and 
allows  him  no  latitude  of  tone  or  scope  of  expressive  action. 
There  can  be  no  interest  felt  in  the  address  of  a  preacher 
whose  whole  elocution  is  so  pruned  and  pared  that  it  is  utterly 
destitute  of  the  natural  freedom  and  exuberance  of  life. 

It  is  not  less  true,  however,  that  if  there  is  any  form  of  pub- 
lic speaking,  in  which  a  strict  regard  to  propriety  is  demanded, 
it  is  that  of  a  discourse  delivered  from  the  pulpit.  The  com- 
parative freedom  of  manner  in  the  accustomed  forms  of  gene- 
ral society  among  us,  ought  to  inspire  a  noble  dignity  of  ad- 
dress, in  our  public  speakers.  Its  actual  effect,  however,  on 
individuals,  is  often  to  create  an  indifference,  or  even  reckless- 
ness of  deportment,  which  is  anything  but  appropriate,  in  con- 
nection with  sacred  oratory. 

The  following  is  as  literal  a  delineation  as  the  writer's 
command  of  words  enables  him  to  give  of  impressions  re- 
ceived by  him,  from  the  manner  of  an  eminent  preacher.  At 
the  appointed  hour  for  commencing  service,  the  minister  came 
bustling  along  the  aisle, — ran  rapidly  up  the  pulpit  steps,  and, 
on  entering  the  pulpit  began  rubbing  his  hands  in  compliment 
to  the  cold  air  of  the  wintry  morning, — dashed  open  the 
leaves  of  the  Bible, — rattled  off  a  few  verses  in  the  style  of  the 
most  violent  hurry,  calling  out  the  Words  in  rapid  succession, 
— implored  a  blessing  on  the  services  in  nearly  the  same 
style  of  voice, — read  the  hymn  after  the  fashion  of  a  lively 
paragraph  in  a  newspaper, — called  out  a  prayer  in  which 
9* 


102  PULPIT  ELOCUTIOK. 

every  portion — adoration,  confession,  thanksgiving,  and  peti- 
tion, all  alike,  had  no  slight  resemblance  to  the  style  of  mili- 
tary command  or  of  a  popular  harangue.  The  sermon,  in  its 
t)old,  rapid,  and  vehement  style,  was  eloquent  with  the  tones 
of  the  most  indignant  invective,  accompanied  by  the  effects  of 
the  most  arrogant  and  dogmatic  expression  of  head,  eye,  and 
person.  The  speaker's  whole  manner  imbodied  the  language 
•of  natural  signs,  in  a  style  so  marked  and  fierce,  that  a 
phrenologist  would  have  found  his  eye  instinctively  wandering 
over  the  surfaces  of  the  preacher's  head  to  trace  its  associated 
indications  in  the  regions  of  '  combativeness*  and  'self- 
-esteem,'  in  confirmation  of  his  theory  of  human  tendencies. 

The  moral  proprieties  of  the  pulpit,  are  not,  it  is  true,  very 
often  violated  to  this  extent.  Yet  we  frequently  hear  tones, 
in  the  exercise  of  devotion,  which  the  ear  is  accustomed  to 
recognize  as  those  of  deciding,  ordering,  and  commanding, 
rather  than  of  supplicating.  AVe  hear,  sometimes,  a  strain,  in 
prayer,  which  reminds  us  rather  of  familiar  talking  than  of  de- 
votion ;  we  hear,  sometimes,  in  a  sermon,  the  tone  of  domes- 
tic scolding ;  and  we  see,  occasionally,  in  the  speaker's  man- 
ner, the  frown  of  personal  anger,  and  the  clinched  fist  of  the 
popular  partizan. 

All  these  undeniable  indications  of  misdirected  and  un- 
modified habit,  are  unintentional, — in  effect,  at  least.  They 
are  the  natural  results  of  unrestrained  and  undisciplined  vio- 
lence of  personal  tendency  in  the  individual :  they  are,  to 
him,  but  the  expressions  of  earnest  feeling.  Yet  could  a 
friendly  hand  present  to  the  speaker's  eye,  in  one  of  his  par- 
oxysms of  excitement,  the  reflection  of  his  own  countenance 
and  figure  in  a  mirror,  he  would  need  no  other  monitor  to  re- 
mind him,  that  how  natural  soever  these  results  of  emotion 
might  have  become  in  his  own  habits,  or  innocuous  to  himself 
personally,  they  are  grossly  immoral  in  their  effect  on  others. 

A  very  moderate  degree  of  attention  to  the  study  and  prac- 
tice of  elocution,  would  assist  speakers  of  this  stamp  to  subdue 
the  voice  to  the  tones  of  decency,  and  the  person  to  the  aspect 
of  decorum,  and  to  win  the  hearers  whom  they  otherwise  dis- 


PROPRIETY   OF  MANNER.  103 

gust  and  repel.  The  discipline  of  elocution,  in  its  connection 
with  the  pulpit,  if  it  is  true  to  its  purposes,  suggests  to  the 
speaker,  that,  in  sacred  oratory,  the  chastening  spirit  of  Chris- 
tian meekness,  is  ever  a  most  eloquent  though  silent  effect. 

Many  preachers,  whose  temperament  and  habit  secure 
them  from  the  moral  improprieties  of  manner,  fail  in  the  due 
observance  of  that  species  of  propriety,  which  has  been  termed 
obedience  to  the  code  of  minor  morals.  The  legion  of  negli- 
gent, not  to  say  low,  personal  habits,  which  defective  early 
education,  at  home,  leaves  so  generally  prevalent  among  us, 
as  a  people,  are  by  no  means  excluded  from  the  pulpit.  It  may 
be  sufficient,  here,  to  allude  to  the  Scottish  preacher  stopping, 
in  the  midst  of  his  discourse,  to  regale  his  nostrils  with  their 
wonted  portion  of  snuff,  as  finding  his  '  pendant'  in  the  picture 
of  our  own  Southern  preacher  attending,  in  the  face  of  his 
congregation,  to  the  nauseating  process  which  necessity  or 
habit  entails  on  the  chewing  of  tobacco.  We  forbear,  likewise, 
to  enlarge  on  the  gross  offences  committed  against  decency, 
in  the  not  unusual  act  of  combing  the  hair  with  the  fingers, 
during  the  intervals  of  active  duty ; — the  public  exhibition 
and  display  of  the  handkerchief  which  has  just  been  employed 
to  prove  its  very  serviceable  character  in  cases  of  catarrh ; — 
the  tooth-pickings  and  nail-cleanings,  which  are  sometimes 
deferred  to  be  done  in  the  pulpit ; — the  copious  indulgence 
in  coughing  and  expectoration,  which  is  often  more  a  neces- 
sity of  habit  than  of  disease  ;  the  loUings,  and  loungings,  and 
leanings,  and  multiform  free  and  easy  postures  occasionally 
exhibited. 

"When,  amid  sights  of  this  description,  the  hearer  happens 
to  advert  to  the  fact,  that  the  preacher  is,  for  the  moment,  the 
ambassador  of  Infinite  Majesty,  the  shock  of  incongruous 
feeling  is  too  much  to  be  endured.  The  preacher's  standard 
of  personal  manner  ought  certainly  to  be  at  least  as  high  as 
any  that  the  higiiest  elevation  of  genuine  taste  and  refine- 
ment has  ever  established. 

The  study  of  elocution  would,  in  relation  to  propriety  of 
effect  in  aspect  and  bearing,  suggest,  in  a  single  lesson  of  a 


104  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

few  minutes*  duration,  the  few  practical  rules  which  are 
requisite  to  mould  the  outward  man  in  habit.  Even  a  very- 
slight  attention  to  t)ie  preliminary  rules  of  posture  and  move- 
ment, would  exert  such  an  influence  on  the  associations  of  the 
mind,  aswould  insure  a  tendency  to  becoming  style  in  personal 
carriage  and  demeanour.  The  preacher  might  thus  be  saved 
from  habitually  committing  revolting  offences  against  taste 
and  propriety,  and  so  avoid  the  barrier  which,  otherwise,  he 
builds  up,  with  his  own  hands,  between  himself  and  his 
hearers. 


WARMTH  OF  MANNER. 

Feeling,  when  it  is  earnest  and  vivid,  rises  naturally  to 
those  stages  which  we  designate  by  the  terms  '  warmth '  and 
*  fervour.'  These  qualities  bear  the  same  relation  to  eloquence, 
that  the  *  lyric  fire  *  does  to  the  higher  species  of  poetry.  The 
element  of  *  passion'  is  indispensable  to  all  the  transcendent 
effects  of  expression,  in  whatever  form  or  in  whatever  art 
they  are  exemplified.  Horner  and  Horace,  among  the  poets 
of  antiquity,  and  Milton  and  Watts,  in  modern  times,  dis- 
play, in  high  perfection,  this  genuine  trait  of  excellence  in 
expression. 

Impassioned  utterance,  or  that  which  rises  to  the  full  height 
of  inspired  and  inspiring  emotion,  and  attains  to  a  vivid  elo- 
quence, is  indebted,  for  its  characteristic  effect,  to  the  '  celes- 
tial fire '  with  which  it  glows.  Intensity  and  ardour  in  the 
desires  and  aspirations  of  the  soul, — the  very  fervour  of  its 
highest  devotional  feeling, — all  are  evinced  by  the  '  burning 
words '  which  seem  to  issue  directly  from  the  heart. 

This  highest  form  of  emotion  demands  a  correspondent  in- 
tensity and  impassioned  power  of  utterance.  We  hear  it  in 
the  voice  of  the  orator,  when  kindled  by  vivid  personal  feel- 
ing transcending  the  formal  limits  of  art.  We  hear  it  in  the 
recitation  of  poetry,  when  the  speaker  gives  forth  the  poetic 
fire  of  genuine,  intense  emotion.     We  hear  it  in  the  true  and 


WARMTH   OF  MANNER.  105 

appropriate  reading  of  the  rapturous  strains  of  the  prophets 
and  the  psalmist,  in  the  sacred  Scriptures.  It  belongs,  also, 
to  the  impassioned  aspirations  and  devout  ecstasies  of  the  soul, 
in  the  language  of  the  higher  species  of  hymns.  Its  effect 
may  be  heard  in  the  utterance  of  the  preacher  whose  lips  have 
been  touched  with  the  '  live  coal  from  the  altar,'  and  whose 
Boul  is  aglow  with  those  emotions  which  spring  from  near  inter- 
course with  God  and  fervent  feeling  for  man. 

The  inspiring  thrill  of  genuine  passion  pervades  all  earnest 
eloquence,  in  whatever  form  it  kindles  the  heart  and  fires  the 
imagination  of  man.  As  a  mood  of  emotion,  it  exists,  in  de- 
gree, even  in  the  humbler  forms  of  public  address  on  ordinary 
occasions,  if  these  imply  life  and  spirit  in  expression.  Its 
effect  is,  in  all  cases,  analogous,  more  or  less,  to  the  commu- 
nicative heat  which  imparts  itself  from  object  to  object,  till 
all  are  enveloped  in  the  common  flame.  The  electric  spark 
from  the  vivid  and  eloquent  speaker,  is  thus  transmitted  to  the 
sympathies  of  his  audience,  till  all  are  thrilled  by  the  com- 
mon impulse,  and  fired  with  the  common  glow. 

The  speaker  who  never  rises  to  warmth  and  fervour  of 
feeling,  falls  short  of  the  highest  and  noblest  purposes  of  elo- 
quence. To  the  preacher  in  the  pulpit  there  is  an  impressive 
lesson  to  be  caught  from  the  spirit  of  the  poet's  phrase,  when 
he  speaks  of  '  the  seraph  that  adores  and  burns.'  A  noble  zeal 
cannot  exist  without  ardour ;  devotion  cannot  inspire  the  soul, 
without  fervour ;  the  heart  cannot  beat  for  man's  highest  good, 
without  warmth. 

Some  preachers,  it  is  true,  give  themselves  up  too  exclu- 
sively to  the  influence  of  this  element  of  eloquence  :  their  fire 
degenerates  into  phrenzy  :  excessive  passion  is,  with  them, 
allowed  to  usurp  the  whole  man:  their  manner  becomes  that 
of  animal  excitement,  and  deviates  into  extravagance  and 
excess.  Hence  the  ungovernable  violence  of  voice,  in  such 
speakers,  and  their  phrenzied  vehemence  of  gesture. 

Other  preachers,  however,  err  on  the  other  extreme,  and 
by  their  uniform  coldness  of  utterance  and  frigidity  of  ges- 
ture, chill  the  feelings  of  their  hearers.     The  special  office  of 


106  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

sacred  eloquence,  is  to  incite  and  inspire  and  enkindle  the 
soul.  But  the  effect  of  the  too  common  style  of  the  pulpit,  is 
to  cool  and  to  benumb.  How  can  the  preacher  cause  the 
heart  to  glow  with  the  sacred  fire  of  love  or  joy,  whose  ac- 
cents *  freeze  as  they  fall,'  and  whose  torpid  frame  seems  to 
have  been  transmuted  to  marble  ? 

Questions  of  intense  interest  are  justly  expected  to  excite 
ardour  of  feeling  and  glow  of  expression.  Men,  in  relation 
to  such  subjects,  are  generally  more  willing  to  pardon  some- 
thing to  the  spirit  of  warm  emotion,  than  to  be  content  with 
deliberate  coolness.  Heartfelt  and  earnest  conviction  will  not 
stop  short  at  ordinary  manifestations  :  it  will  incline  rather  to  a 
fervour  of  utterance  and  action,  at  which  fastidiousness  might 
be  apt  to  take  offence.  There  is,  occasionally,  something  ir- 
repressible in  genuine  emotion.  He  who  speaks  from  the 
inmost  soul,  is  himself  sometimes  carried  away  in  the  com- 
mon rush  of  feeling  which  his  own  eloquence  has  caused. 
The  preacher  who  deeply  feels  the  worth  of  the  human  soul, 
the  brevity  and  uncertainty  of  hfe,  and  man's  proneness  to 
callous  indifference  regarding  his  eternal  well-being,  cannot 
contemplate  the  case  coolly,  and  treat  of  it  in  well-ordered 
sentences,  and  quiet  tones,  and  remonstrate  upon  it  with 
tranquil  mien  and  composed  action.  The  deeper  sources  of 
feeling  must,  in  such  circumstances,  necessarily  be  stirred 
within  him :  the  inner  fire  of  the  soul  must  be  kindled  :  his 
whole  being  will  glow  with  intense  emotion :  his  tones,  if  true 
to  his  heart,  will  be  fired  with  a  sacred  fervour :  his  features 
will  beam  with  impassioned  expression :  his  whole  frame 
will  be  inspired,  his  arm  impelled,  by  the  zeal  and  ardour  of 
his  spirit. 

Coldness  of  manner  is,  in  some  speakers,  a  fault  of  habit 
which  originates  partly  in  constitution  and  temperament. 
But,  in  most,  it  is  the  consequence  of  imperfect  or  ill-directed 
culture.  Faults  of  the  former  description  are  by  no  means 
so  obdurate  as  is  sometimes  imagined.  The  testimony  of  the 
physiologist  is  clear  and  decisive  on  the  point  that,  with  ade- 
quate attention  and  care,  we  can,  by  processes  of  cultivation, 


WARMTH   OF  MANNER.  107 

change  the  temperament  of  individuals  from  the  muscular  to 
the  nervous  character.  The  discipline  of  education,  in  an- 
cient Greece,  was  conducted  so  as  to  blend  and  unite  these 
temperaments,  in  every  individual,  by  a  high-toned  physical 
training,  accompanied  by  the  most  elevated  forms  of  intellec- 
tual culture,  and  an  intense  incitement  applied  to  the  senti- 
ments and  passions.  The  magnificent  ideal  of  human  ex- 
cellence which  Grecian  education  set  up  as  its  standard,  was 
fully  attained  in  the  personal  and  mental  character  of  such 
men  as  Xenophon  and  Epaminondas, — instances  in  which  the 
attainments  of  the  philosopher,  the  statesman,  the  general,  the 
scholar,  the  poet,  the  orator,  the  artist,  the  athlete,  the  moral 
enthusiast,  were  all  blended  in  the  individual  man. 

Modern  education  aims  principally  at  the  developement  of 
a  few  of  the  intellectual  faculties.  It  leaves  the  general 
character  cold  and  feeble,  from  the  absence  of  healthful  vigour 
of  body,  and  inspiring  energy  of  heart  and  will.  It  represses 
emulation,  and  limits  ambition,  but  substitutes  no  inciting  mo- 
tives of  equal  force  and  of  higher  character.  Its  tendency  to 
excite  the  cerebral  organ,  by  too  great  intensity  of  action, 
Abuses,  by  its  morbid  excess,  a  correspondent  depression  of 
genial  emotion  and  ennobling  sentiment :  it  leaves  feeling  and 
fancy, — the  main  sources  of  expression, — to  languish  and  sub- 
side. It  furnishes  no  adequate  instruction  in  the  art  of  speak- 
ing, but  rather  quenches  or  cools  the  spirit  of  eloquence,  by 
inappropriate  influences. 

Few,  accordingly,  among  our  youth,  retain  the  natural  glow 
of  utterance,  through  the  various  stages  of  education,  so  as 
to  come  out  warm,  energetic,  and  effective  speakers.  The 
young  minister  in  the  pulpit,  commences  his  career  of  public 
duty,  disabled,  to  a  great  extent,  for  the  discharge  of  its  func- 
tions. He  has,  in  his  academic  life,  lost,  not  gained,  tone 
and  power,  as  a  living  man,  whose  office  it  is  to  exert,  by  elo- 
quent address,  the  most  momentous  of  all  influences  on  his 
fellow-men.  The  cold  and  powerless  being  who  rises  to  ad- 
dress us  from  the  pulpit,  bears,  not  unfrequently,  on  his  very 
frame,  and  in  his  voice  and  aspect,  the  traces  of  infirmity — not 


108  PtILPIT  ELOCtJTlON. 

of  strength.  His  words  fall  lifeless  on  the  ear :  his  sentimenta 
take  no  effect  on  the  heart. 

The  introduction  of  elocution  into  our  means  of  education, 
would  do  much  to  obviate  the  impediments  to  effective  speak- 
ing, under  which  professional  men  generally  labour.  The 
systematic  practice  of  elocution,  as  an  art,  involves  a  health- 
ful preparatory  training  in  muscular  exercise  and  in  the  ener- 
getic, varied,  and  graceful  forms  of  oratorical  action.  It  pre- 
scribes an  extensive  course  of  daily  practice  in  all  the  modes 
of  voice  which  tend  to  invigorate  and  enliven  the  organs  of 
respiration  and  of  speech.  It  imparts  the  inspiring  influence 
of  eloquent  emotion,  in  the  themes  with  which  it  makes  the 
student  conversant.  It  incites  his  whole  mental  being  to 
vivid  and  glowing  activity. 

These  invaluable  results  may  all  be  secured,  to  a  great  ex- 
tent, by  whatever  individual  has  the  requisite  decision  of  pur- 
pose and  perseverance  in  resolution,  to  commence  and  prosecute 
the  business  of  self-cultivation.  The  theological  student  who 
feels  the  importance  of  elocution  to  the  purposes  of  his  pro- 
fession, will  not  shrink  from  the  toil  which  a  thorough  reno- 
vation of  habit  demands  for  this  purpose.  His  own  progress 
will  open  to  him,  continually,  new  objects  to  be  accomplished, 
— both  as  regards  an  intimate  knowledge  of  his  own  corporeal 
structure,  and  a  distinct  perception  of  the  nature  of  expression, 
in  all  its  manifold  relations  to  man.  It  will  disclose  to  him 
more  fully  the  sympathetic  influences  by  which  the  heart  is 
actuated,  as  well  as  those  outward  analogies  and  efiects  which 
eloquence  implies.  He  will  allow  himself  the  full  benefits  of 
a  regenerating  physical  and  aesthetic  discipline,  to  compensate 
for  the  defects  of  formal  education.  He  will  resort  to  the  in- 
structive lessons  furnished  by  all  the  expressive  arts.  Mu- 
sic, in  particular,  he  will  cultivate,  as  one  of  the  most  effective 
and  inspiring  of  all  influences  that  operate  on  the  human  soul, 
as  the  best  adapted  to  create  the  expressive  mood  and  the 
glow  of  utterance.*     He  will  omit  no  means  of  cherishing  the 

*  The  exhibitions  of  dramatic  art  are,  by  far,  the  most  instructive  of  all 


SERENIXr    OF   MANNER.  109 

life  and  activity  of  imagination, — that  faculty  'which,  in  our 
prevalent  modes  of  culture,  is  left  nearly  dormant,  but  which, 
by  its  tendencies,  decides  the  character  of  the  orator,  not  less 
than  of  the  poet ;  the  power  of  expression,  in  every  man,  be« 
ing  as  his  ability  to  find  a  vehicle  or  a  mould  for  his  thought^ 
which  must  otherwise  be  *  without  form  and  void.' 

Elocution,  in  its  details  of  exercise  and  of  tuition,  furnishes^ 
in  ample  abundance,  to  the  diligent  student,  the  means  of  ac- 
quiring and  cherishing  expressive  power  in  voice  and  action. 
It  enables  him,  by  analysis,  to  detect  the  peculiar  nature  of 
every  tone  of  feeling, — to  trace  the  effect  of  life  and  warmth 
in  every  element,  to  sympathize  with  these,  and  to  acquire 
them  as  habits  of  utterance  and  gesture.  A  few  exercises^ 
attentively  performed,  will  enable  him  to  recognize  the  breath- 
ing warmth  of  a  full-hearted  utterance,  the  vivid  force  and 
fire  of  genuine  emotion,  the  flash  of  the  kindled  eye,  the 
sweep  and  energy  of  a  gesture  which  springs  from  the  inmost 
soul. 


SERENITY  OF  MANNER. 

The  tendencies  of  constitution  and  habit,  in  some  indivi- 
duals, incline  them  to  speak,  on  all  occasions,  under  a  strong^ 
impulse  of  emotion  ;  so  that  their  manner  never  possesses  the 
dignity  of  repose.  Speakers  of  this  class  seem  to  demand 
excitement,  as  a  condition  of  eloquence,  and,  when  interested 
in  their  subject,  are  apt  to  flash  out  abruptly  into  intensity  of 
utterance  and  action :  they  do  not  possess  the  power  of  hold- 
ing emotion  in  check,  and  of  rising  equably,  from  the  ordi- 
nary level  of  their  subject  to  the  higher  strains  of  impassioned 
style:  their  delivery  is  consequently  irregular,  abrupt  and 
unequal.  The  beautiful  symmetry  and  perfect  unity  of  man- 
ner, which  tranquillity  and  self-possession  impart,  are  want- 
schools  of  eloquence ;  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  their  usual  ac- 
companiments, and  the  genei-al  impression  of  society,  debar  any  class  of 
public  speakers  from  resorting  to  them. 
10 


110  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ing  in  the  delivery  of  such  speakers  ;  and  their  effect  on  their 
hearers  is  correspondent :  it  resembles  that  of  the  fitful  gleams 
of  lightning  between  successive  clouds,  rather  than  the  grow- 
ing brightness  which  '  shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  per- 
fect day.*  When  the  flash  and  the  peal  are  over,  there  re- 
mains '  but  the  cold  pattering  of  rain.' 

A  general  composure  and  serenity  of  manner  are  by  no 
means  incompatible  with  the  natural  vicissitudes  of  emotion 
and  expression.  But  abrupt  changes  are  comparatively  rare, 
in  the  natural  progress  of  thought  and  feeling :  they  are  the 
exceptions, — not  the  rule  of  speaking.  Some  preachers, 
however,  whether  from  impulsive  habit  or  incorrect  ear,  in- 
cline to  sudden  wrenchings  of  the  voice  and  jerkings  of  the 
arm,  which  startle  rather  than  impress  an  audience. 

Others  destroy  the  repose  and  dignity  of  their  manner  by 
perpetual  restlessness  of  body,  and  hacking  reiteration  of  ges- 
ture :  they  seem  to  mistake  excitement  for  earnestness,  and 
mere  animal  vivacity  for  the  inspiration  of  genuine  emotion. 
A  due  restraint  on  personal  tendencies,  and  a  just  reserve  of 
manner,  are  the  basis  of  all  true  effect  ifi  elocution. 

Mere  liveliness  of  tone  and  action  possesses,  at  the  best, 
but  the  humble  merit  of  the  wakeful  talker.  It  may,  in  fact, 
serve  ta  dissipate  rather  than  to  deepen  impression.  The 
appropriate  effects,  even  of  earnestness,  vehemence,  and  fer- 
vour, are  dependent  on  the  relief  which  they  derive  from  a 
prevalent  repose.  Arbitrary  and  abrupt  variation  disturbs 
the  current  of  attention,  on  the  part  of  the  hearer.  The 
equable  speaker  leaves  the  mind  of  the  audience  unruffled 
and  calm,  reflecting  distinctly  every  thought  which  his  elo- 
quence calls  up  :  the  abrupt  speaker  breaks  and  shivers  every 
successive  mental  image,  by  the  agitation  attending  his  ab- 
ruptness of  manner.  The  serene  and  tranquil  effect  of  ap- 
propriate expression,  as  a  characteristic  habit,  gives  the 
preacher  easy  access  to  the  mind,  and  enables  him  to  hold  up 
steadily  before  the  attention  the  mental  objects  on  which  he 
would  have  his  hearers  dwell. 

There  are,  indeed,  many  subjects  and  many  occasions  on 


SERENITY  OF  MANNER.  Ill 

which  a  quiet,  unexcited  utterance,  breathes  the  genuine 
spirit  of  expressive  eloquence.  The  themes  of  pulpit  dis- 
course are  not  unfrequently  of  this  character ;  and,  in  the 
management  of  some,  an  unequal,  irregular,  and  restless  man- 
ner in  the  speaker,  would  jar  upon  the  ear,  with  the  disturb- 
ing effect  of  discord  in  music. 

The  preacher  may  ever  derive  impressive  lessons  from  the 
study  of  symmetry  and  harmony,  as  they  reveal  themselves 
in  the  beautiful  and  majestic  forms  and  aspects  of  nature,  and 
in  the  graceful  proportions  of  every  masterpiece  of  art. 

Different  subjects  require  a  difference  of  style  in  elocution, 
as  in  all  other  arts.  But  the  prevalent  mood  and  spirit  of 
sacred  eloquence,  should  be  calmness  and  serenity.  Force 
and  fire  of  manner  will  then  have  their  value,  in  their  place. 
But  the  transition,  even  to  such  effects,  is  not  necessarily 
violent  or  abrupt. 

A  prevalent  serenity  of  manner  leaves  the  speaker  at  lib- 
erty so  to  modulate  his  voice  and  control  his  action,  that  his 
very  transitions  are  felt  to  be  as  appropriate  as  they  are 
striking ;  while  an  agitated  and  hurried  utterance,  jerking  in- 
cessantly into  unnatural  changes  of  pitch,  and  force,  added, 
perhaps,  to  ceaseless  motion  and  gesticulation, — destroys  even 
the  effect  of  variation  itself,  and  ends  in  discomposing  rather 
than  impressing  the  mind. 

The  manly  composure  of  manner  which  properly  belongs 
to  all  forms  of  public  address,  but  especially  to  the  style  of 
the  pulpit,  is  quite  incompatible  with  a  very  common  fault 
into  which  some  preachers  are  habitually  betrayed  by  ner- 
vous excitement.  This  fault  evinces  itself  in  an  overstrained 
expression  on  the  features,  which  is  legible  in  the  wrinkling 
or  knitting  of  the  brow,  in  the  upraising  of  the  eye-brows, 
and  in  the  staring  projection  of  the  eye.  Such  effects  are 
unavoidably  associated,  in  the  mind  of  those  who  are  address- 
ed, with  a  feeling  of  pain  or  repulsion.  Habitual  serenity  of 
mien  and  aspect,  does  not  forbid  the  occasional  expression  of 
even  the  strongest  emotion.  But  it  cannot  be  reconciled  with 
a  continued  stare  or  frown,  which  seems  inconsistent  with  de- 


112  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

corum  or  self-possession.  Offences  of  this  description  might 
all  be  easily  put  down  by  an  occasional  glance  at  a  mirror, 
when  the  student  is  at  practice.  Without  such  recourse,  or 
the  admonition  of  a  friend,  the  unconscious  habit  must  con- 
tinue an  obstacle  to  the  speaker's  success  in  attaining  to  per- 
suasive manner. 


TRUE  AND  NATURAL  MANNER. 

Eloquence,  in  whatever  form,  and,  most  of  all,  in  addresses 
from  the  pulpit,  demands,  as  a  condition  of  its  effect,  a  con- 
viction, on  the  part  of  the  hearer,  of  the  peifect  sincerity  of 
the  speaker.  The  slightest  indication  of  artifice,  or,  even,  of 
mere  art,  becomes  an  effectual  barrier  between  the  orator  and 
his  audience ;  as  it  betrays  the  fact  that  he  is  not  in  earnest 
in  his  communication,  or,  at  all  events,  that  he  is  not  ex- 
pressing himself  with  the  directness  and  simplicity  which  a 
deep  conviction  of  his  sentiments  ought  to  inspire. 

Artifice  and  affectation  are  utterly  incompatible  with  the 
*  simplicity  and  godly  sincerity'  which  the  Scriptures  ascribe 
to  the  preacher.  But  the  fact  of  having  been  accustomed, 
during  the  period  of  early  training,  to  utter  sentiment  by  rote, 
in  the  unmeaning  and  uninteresting  routine  of  school  declam- 
ation, has,  in  most  instances,  untuned  the  ear  for  the  genuine 
effects  of  voice,  and  reconciled  it  to  false  intonation,  just  as 
it  has  misled  the  eye,  and  accustomed  it  to  a  mechanical  and 
artificial  style  of  gesture.  The  living  effect  of  tone  and  nat- 
ural manner,  is  thus  irrecoverably  lost,  and,  with  it,  the 
speaker's  power  over  the  heart :  his  conventional  tone,  atti- 
tude, and  action,  all  plainly  indicate  that  it  is  the  clergyman, 
not  the  individual,  who  is  addressing  us.  The  style,  in  such 
cases,  is,  at  best,  too  obviously  of  that  secondary  gradation  of 
art,  which  knows  not  how  to  '  conceal  art.' 

We  can  trace  the  absence  of  single-minded  purpose,  in 
every  speaker  whose  voice  evidently  assumes  a  new  and  fac- 
titious character,  when  he  begins  to  read  or  speak  in  public ; 


TRUE  AND  NATURAL  MANNER.  113 

we  feel  the  fact  in  the  false  hollowness  and  affected  swell  of 
utterance,  which  some  preachers  always  assume  in  the  pul- 
pit; we  perceive  it  in  their  studied  precision  of  enunciation, 
forced  emphasis,  mechanical  inflection,  chanting  tone,  and 
arbitrary  variations  of  voice,  and  in  their  premeditated  and 
elaborate  motions  of  the  arm.  The  whole  machinery  of  ef- 
fect is  thus,  as  it  were,  perpetually  thrust  on  ear  and  eye,  at 
the  expense  of  the  great  business  of  the  hour.  It  is  impos- 
sible, under  such  circumstances,  for  the  hearer  to  derive  the 
proper  impression  from  the  subject,  or  to  enter  into  sympathy 
with  the  speaker  ;  and  it  is  well  if  the  result  of  the  whole 
discourse  is  not,  unavoidably,  a  state  of  dissatisfaction  and 
disgust  with  the  manner  of  the  preacher,  rather  than  any  just 
influence  from  his  sentiments. 

Earnest  and  warm  feeling  will  not  allow  the  speaker  to 
wait  for  niceties  of  elocution,  in  tlie  act  of  speech.  The 
preacher  who  feels  that  the  decision  of  a  soul  may  be  hang- 
ing, for  the  moment,  on  the  accents  that  fall  from  his  lips, 
will  not  be  found  stopping  to  adjust  his  inflections,  and  mould 
his  gestures.  It  is  quite  a  false  impression,  which  is  eurrent 
regarding  the  practice  of  elocution,  that  it  consists  in  acquir- 
ing certain  fixed  modes  of  voice,  putting  on  a  certain  air,  or 
practising  set  actions,  which,  after  a  given  time,  will  become 
natural  by  habituation,  but  which  must  necessarily  be  awk- 
ward, at  first.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  speaking  naturally 
by  rule  and  study,  applied  during  the  aet  of  speech.  All, 
then,  must  be  left  to  the  guidance  of  feeling  and  intuitive 
perception,  and  the  influence  of  unconscious  tendencies  of 
taste,  previously  disciplined  by  critical  and  reflective  judg- 
ment. 

True  elocution  allows  no  artificial  processes  of  expression  : 
it  cuts  off  all  false  habit.  The  operation  bears  no  analogy 
to  that  of  the  dentist,  who  extracts  the  natural  implements 
and  substitutes  artificial  ones.  It  is  a  process  of  retrenching 
acquired  faults,  and  recovering  original  and  natural  tenden- 
cies, which  had  been  lost,  through  neglect  or  misdirection. 
Elocution,  as  a  science,  enables  the  student  to  analyze,  and 
10* 


114  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

become  familiar  with,  all  the  modifications  of  voice  and  ges- 
ture. It  defines  their  nature  and  relations.  It  teaches  him 
to  discriminate,  among  them,  and  to  select  and  apply  those 
which  natural  emotion,  in  every  instance,  requires.  It  guards 
him  against  artificial  effects  of  every  kind,  with  as  strict  care 
as  it  does  against  other  faults  of  manner.  It  rejects  all  spu- 
rious tones,  as  counterfeits  oflfered  instead  of  the  current  coin 
of  the  heart.  It  points  out  every  tendency  to  dwell  on  sound 
rather  than  on  sense  and  feeling.  A  false  manner,  in  any 
particular,  it  denounces  as  the  worst  of  all  faults, — as  an  un- 
pardonable violation  at  once  of  manUness,  truth,  propriety, 
and  taste. 

Elocution,  however,  insists,  with  equal  earnestness,  on  the 
student's  drawing  a  firm  and  decided  line  of  distinction  be- 
tween natural  and  acquired  habit,  as  regards  the  local  acci- 
dents of  usage,  and  the  general  principles  of  expression.  It 
allows  no  servile  spirit  of  accommodation  to  some  trick  of 
custom  which  happens  to  prevail  around  the  speaker.  It  re- 
quires peremptorily  of  the  New  England  student,  that  he  lay 
aside  his  unique  nasal  tones  and  circumflex  accents,  and  fri- 
gid, diminutive  action, — of  the  Southern  student,  that  he  lay 
aside  his  broad  drawl,  and  mouthing  tone,  and  exaggerated 
gesture.  It  demands  of  the  man  of  education,  everywhere, 
that  he  do  not  descend  to  the  standard  which  uncultivated 
taste  exemplifies  and  prescribes,  but  that  he  adopt  a  manner 
which  shall  bear  the  stamp  of  dignity  and  propriety,  in  en- 
lightened judgment,  wherever  exercised. 

Affectation  of  manner,  though  apparently  originating  in 
insincerity  and  art,  is  often  the  result  of  a  perception  of  com- 
mon errors,  and  a  desire  to  avoid  them.  It  proceeds,  some- 
times, from  the  wish  to  be  correct  or  graceful.  It  is  the  nat- 
ural product  of  the  prevalent  neglect  of  manner  and  deport- 
ment, which  characterizes  our  modes  of  education.  The 
moulding  influence  of  taste,  if  applied,  as  it  ought  to  be,  to 
the  formation  of  habit,  would  anticipate  and  cut  off  this  reac- 
tion of  the  mind  against  the  consequences  of  early  neglect. 
A  sound  judgment  and  a  manly  taste  are  the  only  possible 


TRUE  AND  NATURAL  MANNER.  116 

security  against  faults  of  affectation ;  and  the  cultivation  of 
these  traits  of  mind  ought  to  form  a  prominent  part  of  intel- 
lectual training.  The  systematic  study  and  practice  of  elo- 
cution, may  do  much  to  form  and  direct  the  mental  tenden- 
cies, in  regard  to  modes  and  habits  of  expression ;  as  the 
principles  of  the  art  involve  a  recognition  of  all  the  distinc- 
tive features  of  chaste  and  correct  style,  not  merely  in  this 
but  also  in  every  other  art  which  gives  form  to  thought  and 
feehng. 

Simplicity,  as  the  grand  characteristic  of  truth  and  nature, 
holds  as  high  a  place  in  elocution  as  in  any  other  mode  of  ex- 
pressive art ;  and  directness  of  tone  and  emphasis  it  enjoins 
as  the  straight  road  to  the  heart :  it  forbids  all  attempts  at  ar- 
bitrary modulations  of  voice, — all  merely  mechanical  varia- 
tions for  effect.  The  simplest  and  the  truest  manner  it  holds 
up  as  the  most  eloquent  and  the  most  effective.  The  studied 
changes  in  which  the  speaker  passes  arbitrarily  from  soft  to 
loud,  from  high  to  low,  and  the  opposites  to  these,  it  condemns 
as  false  to  the  subject,  and  destructive  to  every  effect  of  genu- 
ine and  earnest  address. 

A  just  view  of  elocution,  while  it  would  cherish  every  natu- 
ral trait  of  grace  in  utterance  and  action,  would  lead  the  stu- 
dent to  avoid  every  trace  of  manner  which  indicates  a  distinct 
and  separate  attention  to  gracefulness.  Every  modification  of 
the  voice,  and  every  movement  of  the  arm,  which  is  executed 
merely  because  it  is  graceful,  is  untrue  to  the  higher  demands 
of  truth  and  manly  energy.  It  is  something  deducted  from 
the  weight  of  a  sentiment  and  its  power  over  the  mind  and 
heart.  It  can  be  compared  only  to  the  juvenile  messenger's 
loitering  by  the  wayside,  to  pluck  flowers,  when  urgent  busi- 
ness demands  speed. 

All  true  grace  is  inherent  in  the  sentiment  which  the  speaker 
utters.  It  is  not  a  thing  which  he  can  superadd  in  tone  or 
action.  It  requires  no  attention,  apart  from  that  which  is  due 
to  the  thought  and  the  language  of  the  composition.  To  lin- 
ger on  poetic  tones,  and  to  delay  for  studied  graces  of  action, 
on  occasions  demanding  earnest  and  direct  speech,  betrays  an 


116  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Utter  ignorance  of  the  first  principles  of  expression.  Beauty 
itself  must,  in  such  circumstances,  lose  its  character,  and  be- 
come deformity.  A  single  gratuitous  flourish  of  voice  or  hand, 
seals  the  doom  of  the  speaker,  as  to  any  effect  on  intelligent 
and  cultivated  minds.  The  only  effect  of  such  obtrusions  of 
manner,  is  to  lower  the  hearer's  estimation  of  the  speaker,  and 
to  mar  the  impression  made  by  his  subject. 


REFINEMENT  AND  GEACEEULNESS. 

Elocution,  as  an  art,  while  it  rejects  all  spurious  beauty  of 
ornament  in  manner,  as  a  hinderance  to  effect,  cherishes  a  just 
regard  for  that  refinement  which  is  the  natural  accompani- 
ment of  a  cultivated  taste.  Education  is  ineffectual,  if  it  does 
not  extend  to  the  whole  mental  character.  Classical  learning 
has  fallen  short  of  its  design,  if  it  has  not  left  its  graceful  im- 
press on  the  imagination,  and  moulded  the  expressive  powers 
into  habits  of  symmetrical  and  harmonious  action.  Its  office, 
in  the  formation  of  the  intellectual  character,  is  to  quicken  the 
sensibility  to  beauty  and  elegance,  by  the  admirable  perfection 
of  the  models  which  it  presents  for  imitation,  and  which  ought 
to  exert  a  silent  but  enduring  influence  on  the  associations 
and  tendencies  of  the  mind. 

Society  has  a  right  to  demand,  in  the  educated  speaker,  the 
fruits  of  the  highest  culture,  and,  among  these,  a  true  elegance 
and  a  genuine  refinement  of  manner.  The  educated  clergy- 
man owes  to  society  the  results  of  scholarship,  imbodied  in  an 
oratory  which  is,  at  least,  correct  and  graceful.  There  are, 
no  doubt,  qualities  and  accomplishments  which  are  of  vastly 
higher  value  than  mere  gracefulness  of  elocution.  No  degree 
of  elegance  can  atone  for  the  absence  of  natural,  manly,  fi'ee, 
and  appropriate  manner.  But  if  there  is  any  form  of  elo- 
quence which  naturally  and  justly  invests  itself  with  the  asso- 
ciations and  the  language  of  the  highest  beauty,  it  is  that  of 
the  pulpit.  The  wonted  themes  of  sacred  oratory,  are  them- 
selves the  highest  species  of  poetry ;  and  the  preacher  who 


REFINEMENT   AND    GRACEFULNESS.  117 

does  not  cause  this  truth  to  be  felt,  loses  his  hold  of  one  of  the 
most  powerful  influences  on  the  human  soul.  The  transcend- 
ent beauty  of  the  language  of  the  Scriptures,  seems  to  haunt 
the  ear  of  all  men,  as  a  charm  equally  powerful  in  all  stages 
of  life,  from  childhood  to  old  age ;  and  the  preacher  who 
drinks  deepest  at  the  sacred  fount,  will  ever  be  found  the 
most  eloquent  in  expression ; — his  whole  manner  will  evince 
the  influence  of  the  discipline  of  that  school  in  which  he  has 
trained  himself. 

Nothingcan.be  further  from  the  accustomed  associations 
of  every  mind,  than  the  remotest  idea  of  anything  odd,  blun- 
dering, awkward,  or  coarse,  in  the  language  of  the  sacred 
writers.  The  principle  which  causes  us  to  revolt  from  such 
effects  in  the  style  and  manner  of  the  preacher,  is  of  the  same 
nature  :  it  is  the  shrinking  of  the  mind  from  the  thought  of 
desecration.  Yet  how  often  are  our  pulpits  occupied  by  mea 
on  whom  all  the  beauties  of  nature,  of  art,  and  even  of  re- 
vealed truth,  seem  to  have  fallen  without  one  perceptible  ef- 
fect on  the  soul,  and  who  apparently  address  themselves  to 
the  delivery  of  a  sermon,  in  the  spirit  of  a  labourer  setting 
about  a  coarse  job  of  work  ! 

How  often  we  hear  from  the  pulpit  the  tones  of  the  lowest 
passions  and  of  the  vilest  associations,  the  coarse  bawling  of 
utter  rudeness,  or  the  harsh  guttural  sounds  of  the  '  malignant 
emotions,'  which  cause  the  voice  of  man  to  approach  that  of 
the  lower  animals !  How  frequently  we  hear  the  pulpit, 
which  should  be  looked  up  to,  as  the  model  of  intellectual  re- 
finement and  of  true  culture,  degraded  by  an  utterance  which, 
in  the  very  pronunciation  of  words,  bespeaks  the  ascendancy 
of  low  association  sin  the  personal  habits  of  the  speaker  !  The 
elocution  of  the  pulpit  should,  in  the  simplicity  and  chastened 
dignity  of  its  inflection,  and  in  the  well  attempered  moderation 
of  its  tones,  furnish  lessons  of  true  eloquence  to  every  other 
form  of  address.  The  impression  is  utterly  false,  that  the 
way  to  bring  religion  home  to  '  the  business  and  bosoms'  of 
men,  is  to  discourse  in  the  dialect  of  the  market-place,  and 


118  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

use  tlie  tones  and  gesture  of  the  street.  Lessons  of  directness 
and  earnestness,  may,  it  is  true,  be  gathered  from  these.  But 
the  literal  transference  of  them  to  the  pulpit,  can  be  suggested 
only  by  a  taste  which  relishes  what  is  low,  and  a  judgment 
utterly  blind  to  the  fitness  of  things.  The  preacher's  office  is 
not  to  bring  down  his  subject  to  the  level  of  his  hearers,  but 
to  assist  them  in  rising  to  that  of  his  subject.  Neither  is  the 
rudest  mind  at  all  insensible  to  the  becoming  grace  of  refine- 
ment, as  the  natural  attendant  of  eloquence,  on  themes  which 
are  sacred  and  spiritual  in  their  relations. 


FALSE  TASTE,  ARTIEICIAL  STYLE. 

But  while  a  coarse  and  low  style  of  address,  is  revolting  to 
every  one's  natural  sense  of  propriety,  the  manner  which  be- 
trays artificial  and  studied  elegance,  seems  to  solicit  attention 
to  the  speaker  rather  than  to  his  subject.  All  merely  arbi- 
trary and  conventional  forms  of  grace,  seem  ridiculous,  when 
brought  into  contact  with  those  vast  conceptions  of  the  soul 
to  which  it  is  the  j)reacher's  business  to  give  utterance.  The 
speaker  who  adopts  them,  incurs  all  the  degradation  of  *  vol- 
untary humiliation,'  and  *  worshipping  the  angels'  of  vitiated 
custom, — a  thing  directly  opposite  to  the  idea  of  the  service 
of  God. 

The  world  justly  shrinks  from  the  preacher  who,  in  the  de- 
livery of  his  discourse,  serves  up  some  choice  delicacy  of  fini- 
cal manner,  some  fantasy  of  ultra  pronunciation,  some  ele- 
gance of  mere  elocution,  when  he  ought  to  be  dealing  out  the 
bread  of  life.  A  mincing,  afi'ected  manner,  in  the  tone  or 
action  of  a  preacher,  can  excite  only  the  feeling  of  deep  dis- 
gust. Nor  can  the  prevalence  of  coarseness  or  awkwardness 
in  others,  form  any  plea  for  the  individual  who  betrays  an 
artificial  and  affected  manner,  which  pleases  only  his  own 
fancy,  but  disgusts  the  taste  of  every  body  else.  The  coarse 
and  vehement  speaker  may  justly  claim  that  we  pardon  some- 


THE  DIFFERENT  PARTS  OF  A  DISCOURSE.  119 

thing  to  his  earnestness  and  rough  force.  But  the  affected 
speaker  can  do  nothing  to  redeem  the  littleness  to  which  he 
voluntarily  descends. 

A  spurious  elegance  of  manner,  it  is  true,  is,  not  unfre- 
quently,  the  result  of  false  notions  of  grace,  and  of  a  mis- 
guided desire  to  obey  the  indications  of  taste.  It  is  not  al- 
ways an  intentional  fault :  it  is  contracted,  perhaps,  from  the 
unconscious  imitation  of  an  esteemed  model :  it  is  a  vice  in- 
culcated, in  many  instances,  by  false  instruction.  But,  from 
whatever  source  it  springs,  its  effect  on  delivery  is  that  of  in- 
sincerity and  artifice,  or  of  display  :  it  is  not  merely  an  obstacle 
but  a  positive  nuisance.  No  matter  how  studiously  it  aims  at 
grace,  it  proves  but  laboured  deformity. 

The  only  effectual  corrective  for  false  taste  in  elocution, 
consists  .in  the  attentive  study  of  genuine  beauty,  as  it  ira- 
bodies  itself  in  the  simple  forms  of  nature  and  of  true  art. 
Perfect  simplicity  is  perfect  grace.  Elegance,  if  it  would  not 
degenerate  into  fantasy,  must  not  deviate  from  simplicity. 
The  highest  ornaments  of  eloquence,  are  the  truest  touches  of 
nature,  in  utterance  and  action.  Elocution,  as  the  art  which 
moulds  the  exterior  of  eloquence,  necessarily  recognizes  and 
obeys  the  laws  which  regulate  the  higher  art  to  which  it  is 
tributary.  The  best  elocution,  therefore,  is  that  which  pre- 
serves a  perfectly  simple  and  natural  manner. 


ADAPTATION  OF  MANNER  TO  THE  DIFFERENT  PARTS" 
OF  A  DISCOURSE. 

One  of  the  common  results  of  defective  early  instruction  in 
reading,  is  the  habit  of  uttering  all  the  portions  of  a  discourse, 
— particularly  when  it  is  read  and  not  spoken, — in  nearly  the 
same  tone  ;  and  along  with  this  fault  usually  goes  that  of  using, 
throughout,  the  same  style  and  form  of  action.  Appropriate 
manner  would,  on  the  contrary,  exhibit  an  obvious  change  of 
voice,  in  passing  from  the  explanatory  and  quiet  utterance  of 
the  opening  paragraphs  to  the  argument  and  illustration  by 


120  PULPIT  ELOCUTION.  ^  T 

"which  the  subject  is  exhibited  and  sustained,  and  a  still  more 
impressive  variation  of  tone,  in  the  closing  application,  or  di- 
rect address,  which  appeals  immediately  to  the  feelings  of  the 
audience.  The  whole  discourse,  (if  constructed  on  the  plan 
now  implied,)  would  exhibit  a  progressive  force  of  voice,  from 
the  quiet  to  the  earnest,  and  thence  to  the  vivid,  effects  of  ut- 
terance. Appropriate  elocution  thus  renders  the  reading  of  a 
sermon  one  continuous  climax  of  effect  to  the  ear,  by  which 
the  hearer  becomes  more  and  more  deeply  interested  or  forci- 
bly impressed,  till  the  close. 

A  similar  remark  would  apply  to  the  proper  style  of  action 
in  the  successive  parts  of  a  discourse.  The  merely  explana- 
tory statements  addressed  to  the  understanding,  would  pro- 
duce little  or  no  gesture,  the  argumentative  and  descriptive 
passages  would  elicit  a  growing  freedom  and  force  of  action, 
as  the  speaker's  own  feelings  and  those  of  his  hearers  became 
more  deeply  interested  in  the  train  of  thought  and  the  attend- 
ant emotions,  developed  in  the  progress  of  the  discourse ;  and, 
in  the  concluding  address,  the  full  eloquence  of  earnest  and 
impressive  gesture,  would  naturally  be  brought  out  by  the 
heightened  interest  of  the  speaker's  mind  in  his  subject  and 
his  audience.  The  whole  man  would  now  be  alive  with  the 
spirit  of  expressive  utterance :  the  hand  would  render  its  full 
tribute  of  aid  to  tongue  and  eye,  in  stamping  the  impress  of 
the  speaker's  soul  on  the  sympathies  of  his  hearers. 

All  sermons,  it  is  true,  do  not  admit  of  a  regular  and  system- 
atic progression  of  effect  like  what  has  just  been  described. 
But  the  consequence  of  speaking,  for  an  hour,  on  one  subject, 
ought  naturally  to  be  that  of  drawing  out  more  and  more  of 
the  natural  resources  of  eloquence,  which  continuous  thought 
should  always  have  the  power  to  develope.  There  ought, 
perhaps,  to  be  more  regard  paid,  in  rhetorical  training,  to  such 
modes  of  treating  subjects  as  would  insure  the  eloquence  of 
progressive  effect.  The  lawyer  w^io  arranges  his  pleading  so 
as  to  bring  out  his  arguments  in  successive  stages  of  accumu- 
lating force,  and  the  player  who  never  willingly  leaves  the 
stage  without  a  strong  effect  of  voice  or  action,  might  afford 


MANNER  IN  DEVOTION.  121 

an  instructive  lesson  to  the  preacher  ;  for  it  is  now  too  often 
the  fact  that  his  last  point  would  weigh  no  more  than  his  first, 
and  that,  at  the  very  close  of  his  discourse,  he  seems  to  have 
made  no  progress,  reached  no  conclusion,  gained  no  position, 
by  what  he  has  read  or  spoken.  The  lawyer  who  should  so 
wind  up  his  pleading,  or  the  player  who  should  thus  tamely 
go  off  the  stage,  would  be  justly  deemed  to  have  made  an  ut- 
ter failure  in  his  part.  The  professional  phrase  which  one 
barrister  sometimes  uses,  when  speaking  of  the  professional 
efforts  of  another,  that  'his  learned  brother  took  nothing  by 
his  motion,'  would  very  often  apply  most  justly  to  the  vague 
and  immethodical,  and  consequently  ineffective  speaker  in  the 
pulpit. 

The  principle  of  climax,  or  growing  force  and  effect, 
should  be  distinctly  perceptible  not  only  in  the  successive 
stages  of  a  discourse,  but  in  every  paragraph  and  in  every 
sentence  which  it  contains.  The  preacher's  voice  and  whole 
manner  should  perpetually  indicate,  in  progressive  intensity, 
that  he  is  consciously  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  con- 
summation of  his  train  of  associated  thought  and  feeling.  The 
aim  of  the  preacher's  mind,  as  indicated  in  the  increasing 
earnestness  of  his  manner,  should,  during  every  successive 
paragraph  of  his  discourse,  be  growing  clearer  and  more  im- 
pressive to  his  audience,  till  his  object  is  fully  effected,  at  the 
close. 


1 


MANNER  IN  DEVOTION. 
The  prevalent  inattention,  in  our  community,  to  the  effects 
of  manner  and  address,  are  in  nothing  more  perceptible  than 
in  the  customary  tones  and  attitudes  of  the  devotional  exer- 
cises in  public  worship.  Some  preachers  cannot,  even  in 
such  circumstances,  abstain  from  an  irregular  and  revolting 
violence  of  voice  :  their  earnestness  seems  to  know  no  con- 
troUing  power  of  reverence  and  decency :  their  impassioned 
vehemence  of  manner  seems  to  recognize  no  difference  be- 
ll 


122  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

tween  the  tones  which  might  justly  be  used  in  importuning  a 
fellow-being,  and  those  which  are  appropriate  in  entreaty  ad- 
dressed to  God.  It  is  no  unusual  thing  to  hear  a  whole 
prayer  thundered  out,  in  the  accents  of  imperious  command. 

What  a  lesson  might  such  speakers  learn  of  the  docile  and 
respectful  child,  that  proffers  its  request  in  subdued  though 
earnest  tones !  The  child,  wiser  instinctively  than  the  man, 
is  aware  that,  in  such  cases,  violence  shuts,  but  does  not  open, 
the  heart.  It  adopts,  therefore,  the  irresistible  eloquence 
taught  it  by  nature,  and  urges  its  request  in  pleading  tones, 
piercing  by  their  very  suppression :  and  its  suit  is,  in  such 
circumstances,  seldom  refused. 

Some  preachers  adopt  the  opposite  extreme  of  voice,  and 
uniformly  employ  a  high,  feeble  whine,  in  their  devotional 
utterance  ;  as  if  an  audience  with  God  were  a  scene  of  servile 
humiliation  and  abject  timidity ;  as  if  the  act  of  communing 
with  the  Father  of  spirits  were  a  powerless  prostration  of  the 
soul,  and  an  occasion  of  mere  wailing  and  lamentation.  The 
appropriate  fervour  and  sublimity  of  devotion,  which,  not  less 
than  humility  and  self-abasement,  are  its  just  characteristics, 
are  thus  entirely  lost  sight  of ;  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  ex- 
ercise, is  to  impress  upon  the  mind  the  meanness  of  man, 
rather  than  the  grandeur  and  majesty  of  God. 

A  voice  moulded  by  appropriate  emotion,  would  impart  to 
the  tones  of  prayer  a  degree  of  the  manifold  power  which 
characterizes  the  grandest  of  all  the  instruments  of  music, — 
that  which  we  term  emphatically  the  organ,  and  which  from 
its  majestic  compass  and  effect,  we  consecrate  to  the  office  of 
worship.  The  deep,  full,  and  solemn  strains  of  adoration, 
would  then  pour  themselves  forth  on  the  ear,  with  a  strength 
but  softness  of  effect  aUied  to  the  deep  tones  of  the  wind  when 
breathing  low,  through  the  forest,  or  with  something  of  their 
ample  swell,  when  raising  the  sublime  hymn  of  nature  to  the 
power  and  glory  of  the  Creator.  The  pleading  and  pathetic 
voice  of  penitence  would  be  recognized  by  its  plaintive  notes. 
The  low  murmur  and  broken  whisperings  of  contrition,  the 
earnest  and  thrilling  intensity  of  the  soul's  aspiration  after 


MANNER  IN  DEVOTION.  123 

pardon,  purity  and  peace,  the  fervent  breathings  of  heartfelt 
gratitude,  the  rapture  of  devout  joy,  would  all,  in  turn,  be  felt, 
as  they  rose  or  fell  upon  the  ear,  in  the  successive  outpourings 
of  the  heart. 

The  inexpressive,  level,  mechanical,  'recitative'  strain, 
which  is  so  often  heard  in  the  utterance  of  the  language  of  de- 
votion, is  the  most  efficacious  of  all  means  of  quenching  the 
spirit  of  the  exercise,  and  reducing  worship  to  a  hollow  cere- 
mony. 

Vividness  and  fervour  of  feeling  are,  in  no  respect,  incom- 
patible with  the  softened  tones  of  subdued  and  reverential 
emotion.  The  chastened  expression  of  earnestness  is  the 
most  eloquent  of  all  the  moods  of  the  human  voice  :  suppressed 
intensity  of  tone  penetrates  the  heart  more  deeply  than  the 
strongest  utterance.  The  study  of  the  natural  language  of  ex- 
pression, with  a  view  to  the  discrimination  of  vocal  effects, 
and  the  acquisition  of  true  and  natural  modulation,  cannot  be 
too  earnestly  urged  on  the  student  of  theology.  The  voice  is 
the  instrument  of  his  usefulness ;  and  surely  the  ability  to 
use  it  justly,  to  use  it  skilfully  and  impressively,  well  deserves 
the  most  assiduous  application  of  his  powers.  The  measure 
of  devotional  feeling,  in  an  assembly,  must  ever  be  in  accord- 
ance with  the  depth  and  fulness  of  heart  imparted  by  the  tones 
of  the  minister.  The  cold  and  dry  manner  in  which  the  ex- 
ercise of  devotion  is  often  conducted,  sufficiently  accounts  for 
the  sHght  sympathy  which  it  excites.  Yet  it  would  demand 
no  great  amount  of  time,  from  the  minister,  to  acquire  the 
power  of  giving  true  and  effectual  utterance  to  his  inward 
feelings,  and  of  bringing  his  congregation  into  accordant  sym- 
pathy. The  existing  evil  consists  obviously  in  the  habit  of 
unmeaning  and  inexpressive  tone  on  his  part, — a  habit  which 
neglect  or  perversion  has  allowed  to  become  a  portion  of  his 
self-education,  but  which  a  moderate  degree  of  study  and  ap- 
plication would  enable  him  to  correct. 

The  attitudes  into  which  the  pastor  suffers  himself  to  fall, 
in  the  act  of  devotion,  are  not  unfrequently  a  cause  of  inhar- 
monious and  discordant  impression  on  the  feelings  of  his  peo- 


lS4t  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

pie.  His  lounging  posture,  his  sleepily  folded  hands,  his 
hanging  head,  added  to  his  drowsy  voice,  may  all  interfere 
with  the  spiritual  tendency  of  the  exercise,  by  causing  the 
natural  law  of  sympathy  with  given  signs  and  effects,  to  trans- 
cend the  speaker's  power  of  raising  and  exalting  the  soul ;  so 
that  a  pervading  dulness  and  apathy,  instead  of  a  vivid  emo- 
tion, shall  be  the  predominating  mood  of  the  audience. 

The  error,  however,  lies,  in  some  cases,  at  the  opposite  ex- 
treme :  the  mere  ardour  of  the  speaker  is  suffered  to  carry 
him  into  vehement  contortions  of  body,  and,  sometimes,  even 
into  violent  gestures,  in  the  act  of  prayer.  A  most  impressive 
rebuke  to  this  animal  turbulence,  might  be  derived  from  the 
touching  Scripture  representation  of  the  seraphim,  in  the  act 
of  adoration,  veiling  their  faces  with  their  wings.  The  still- 
ness of  awe  is  one  of  the  most  obvious  traits  of  tendency  in 
expression.  The  submissive  mien  of  reverence ;  the  erect 
attitude  of  praise,  the  uplifted  hands  of  gratitude,  blessing, 
adoration,  joy,  and  ardent  aspiration  ;  the  humbled  posture  of 
penitence  and  contrition  ;  the  clasped  hands  of  supplication 
and  entreaty ;  the  folded  hands  of  resignation  and  submission ; 
the  imploring  outstretched  arms  ; — all  speak  a  natural  lan- 
guage, and  have  their  meaning  in  the  heart  of  man.  Devo- 
tion, destitute  of  these,  may  be  pronounced  decorous,  and 
chaste,  and  well-bred ;  but  it  is  false  to  the  great  law  of  the 
Creator,  that  man's  soul  should  find  a  language  in  his  frame. 


PRINCIPLES  OF  ELOCUTION 


The  preceding  brief  remarks  on  manner,  were  designed  to 
lead  the  reader  to  the  study  and  practice  of  the  prominent 
rules  and  principles  of  elocution.  These  will  be  found  laid 
down,  in  detail,  in  the  two  volumes  formerly  mentioned, — 
the  manual  of  Orthophony  and  the  American  Elocutionist, — 
the  former  designed  to  furnish  the  modes  and  means  of  culti- 
vating the  voice,  on  the  system  of  Dr.  James  Rush  ;  and  the 
latter,  the  rules  and  principles  of  elocution,  in  connection  with 
orthoepy,  rhetoric,  and  prosody,  and  the  practice  of  gesture. 
To  these  works,  therefore,  the  reader  is  referred  for  the  full 
systematic  study  of  elocution,  as  a  science,  and  as  an  art. 

The  design  of  the  following  synopsis,  is  to  present  those 
principles  of  elocution,  which  are  immediately  applicable  to 
the  purposes  of  the  pulpit.  Persons  who  had  not  paid  atten- 
tion, previously,  to  the  art  of  reading,  will  thus  be  furnished 
with  an  outline  of  its  most  useful  parts  ;  and  those  who  have 
become  versed  in  its  theory,  will  be  provided  with  a  special 
course  of  practice  for  professional  purposes. 

THE  CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. 

Capability. 

The  voice,  like  every  other  endowment  or  capacity  of  man, 
is  a  gift  which  bespeaks,  at  once,  the  power,  the  wisdom,  and 
the  beneficence  of  the  Creator.  It  is  an  organ  of  wondrous 
power,  of  exquisite  flexibility,  of  vast  compass,  of  the  most 
extensive  range,  of  inexhaustible  expression.  Its  capability 
11* 


126  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

of  intense  force  is  such  as  to  render  it  clearly  audible,  at  a 
distance,  on  some  occasions,  of  several  miles.*  It  is  capable, 
also,  of  executing  the  '  sound  so  fine,  that  nothing  lives  'twixt 
it  and  silence.'  It  traverses,  with  ease,  from  notes  allied,  in 
depth,  to  the  mutterings  of  distant  thunder,  up  to  those  which 
pierce  the  ear  with  the  shrillness  of  the  horn.  Its  mellow 
tones,  its  softened  breathings,  and  gentle  undulations,  are  the 
charm  of  power  to  melt  the  heart  to  love :  its  yell  of  rage 
Btrikes  terror  into  the  fiercest  of  the  brutes.  Its  plaintive 
waihngs  cause  the  arm  of  the  warrior  to  fall  powerless  :  its 
rousing  and  thrilling  tone  of  courage,  impels  '  the  mass  of 
living  valour'  to  the  cannon's  mouth.  Its  moral  and  spiritual 
effect  varies  from  the  soul-subduing  reverence  of  the  strain  of 
devotion,  to  the  revolting  violence  of  the  curse  of  vindictive 
•wrath.  It  passes,  in  a  moment,  perhaps,  from  the  whisper  of 
fear  to  the  shriek  of  terror,  or  from  the  groan  of  despair  to 
the  ecstatic  shout  of  joy. 

The  natural  powers,  and  capacities  of  the  voice,  are  scarce- 
ly more  wonderful  than  its  susceptibility  of  cultivation  by  the 
processes  of  human  art.  It  becomes,  even  in  the  humble  cul- 
ture which  it  receives,  under  the  training  of  maternal  care, 
capable  of  executing  all  the  varied  functions  of  speech,  which 
are  demanded  by  the  daily  communications  of  life.  It  attains, 
thus,  to  the  power  of  giving  utterance  to  every  form  of  thought 
or  mood  of  feeling,  as  prompting  the  language  of  seriousness 
and  gravity,  or  of  fancy,  humour,  and  wit.  The  convention- 
al forms  of  speech,  imbodied  in  articulate  utterance,  enable  it, 
to  a  certain  extent,  to  keep  up  with  the  innumerable  and  ever 
shifting  movements  of  the  mind. 

The  systematic  and  regulated  culture  which  the  voice  re- 
ceives, under  adequate  training,  empowers  the  orator  to  sway 
the  minds  of  men,  at  will,  by  the  consummate  mastery  of  elo- 

*  The  literal  exactness  of  the  above  statement,  can  probably  be 
avouched,  as  having  been  personally  verified  by  other  elocutionists  as 
well  as  the  author.  Strong  and  clear  voices,  exerted  in  the  form  of  a 
well-vocalized  or  perfectly  musical  call,  may  be  easily  heard,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  from  one  to  three  miles,  over  water,  or  other  level  surfaces. 


CULTIVATION  OP  THE  VOICE. — CAPABILITY.  127 

quence.  It  enables  the  actor  to  enchain  the  attention,  and 
entrance  the  imagination  and  feelings  of  his  fellow-men,  in  a 
mental  illusion  which,  for  the  moment,  catches  the  very  hue 
of  reality.  Such  is  man's  vocal  progress,  from  the  helpless 
wailings  of  his  infancy,  to  the  triumphs  which  artistic  genius 
enables  him  to  achieve  by  the  disciplined  utterance  of  his 
maturity. 

That  wisdom  of  the  ancient  world,  which  was  derived  from 
the  faithful  observation  of  nature,  led  to  the  assiduous  culti- 
vation of  the  vocal  powers.  The  Greeks  considered  elocu- 
tion as  a  part  of  the  proper  education  of  man  as  an  expressive 
being ;  but  they  regarded  it  as  an  indispensable  preparation 
for  the  functions  of  the  orator.  The  Athenian  mode  of  dis- 
cipline for  the  formation  of  the  voice,  was  so  extensive  as  to 
comprehend  a  range  of  practice  requiring  the  professional  su- 
perintendence of  three  different  classes  of  instructors,  enu- 
merated, by  Roman  writers,  under  the  designations  of  ^pho- 
TKJLSciy  '  vociferariij  and  '  vocalesJ  The  office  of  the  first- 
named  class,  seems  to  have  been  that  of  moulding  the  voice 
as  to  *  quality,' — the  effect  of  vocal  sound,  as  true,  full,  and 
agreeable,  or  otherwise, — that  of  the  second,  to  impart  force 
and  compass  by  rigorous  practical  training  in  set  exercises, — 
that  of  the  third,  to  regulate  the  vocal  habits  in  regard  to  in- 
tonation and  inflection.  To  the  effect  of  this  strictly  vocal 
discipline  was  added  that  of  special  athletic  and  gymnastic 
exercises,  which  were  likewise  arranged  and  classified  in  sep- 
arate schools,  established  for  the  purpose  of  securing  health 
and  vigour,  each  by  a  form  of  muscular  practice  peculiar  to 
itself.  Five  such  schools  have  been  distinctly  enumerated 
by  writers  curious  on  such  subjects ;  and  to  all  of  these  it 
was  deemed  the  duty  of  the  rhetorician  to  recommend  his 
pupils. 

The  slight  regard  paid,  in  modern  times,  to  the  develop- 
ment, either  of  the  physical  or  the  expressive  powers  of  the 
human  being,  disposes  us  to  look  with  an  eye  of  suspicion 
and  distrust,  equally,  on  the  athletic  and  the  rhetorical  dis- 
cipline  adopted   by  the  ancient   Greeks.     We  are  prone  to 


12S  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ascribe  the  one  to  their  passionate  love  of  external  beauty, 
and  the  other  to  their  fastidious  regard  to  intellectual  grace 
and  polish :  we  condemn  the  whole  process  of  their  culture, 
as  artificial  and  fantastic ;  or  we  refer  their  rigour  of  prepar- 
atory training  to  the  necessity  of  the  case,  in  the  fact  that 
their  orators  were  accustomed  to  speak  in  the  open  air,  and 
hence  required  a  species  of  voice  as  little  applicable  to  our 
purposes  of  speech,  as  would  be  that  of  a  pubUc  crier. 

The  stern  character  of  Demosthenes, — the  most  diligent 
and  indefatigable  in  training,  of  all  the  orators  of  antiquity, — 
forbids,  (as  was  mentioned  before,)  the  very  idea  of  his  sub- 
mitting to  a  discipline  artificial  or  fanciful  in  its  prescriptions ; 
and  Cicero  himself  has  borne  eloquent  testimony  to  the  value 
of  the  vocal  training  to  which  he  subjected  himself,  when  in 
Greece. 

The  cultivation  of  the  voice  is  required  on  grounds  quite 
distinct  from  those  of  anticipated  professional  duties.  The 
vocal  muscles  and  the  nerves  of  expression,  (the  great  instru* 
ments  of  utterance,)  are  not  only  susceptible  of  cultivation  to 
an  equal  degree  with  the  other  portions  of  the  muscular  and 
nervous  systems  of  the  human  body,  but  to  a  much  higher. — 
The  spiritual  vividness  of  their  action, — so  important  to  their 
power  of  rendering  instant  obedience  to  the  ever-varying 
requisitions  of  the  mind, — renders  these  portions  of  the  hu- 
man frame  the  most  plastic  and  the  most  docile  of  all.  There 
is  no  form  of  muscular  or  of  nervous  action  in  which  so  en- 
tire a  revolution  can  be  speedily  eflfected,  as  that  which  is  ex- 
emplified in  the  production  of  vocal  sound.  A  few  weeks' 
daily  practice  are,  usually,  sufficient  to  produce  an  utter 
change  of  circumstances,  as  regards  the  ability  to  execute  the 
prominent  effects  of  voice,  in  '  force'  and  *  pitch,' — the  main 
characteristics  of  utterance,  in  impressive  speaking.  The 
whole  style  of  voice,  as  to  '  quality,'  is  often  changed  from 
bad  to  good,  within  as  short  a  period. 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. — NEGLECT.  129 

Neglect  of  Vocal  Culture. 

Our  established  modes  of  education,  were  they  adequate  to 
the  purpose  of  a  thorough  cultivation  of  the  various  powers 
and  capacities  of  man,  would  furnish  ample  provision  for  the 
development  of  the  organ  of  voice,  as  the  exponent  of  heart 
and  mind,  the  connecting  link  of  man's  mental  and  social  be- 
ing. No  exertion  would  then  be  spared  by  which  it  could  be 
rendered  vigorous,  pliant,  expressive,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
agreeable  to  the  ear,  by  its  natural  and  appropriate  music,  as 
a  portion  and  a  most  effective  one,  of  the  great  system  of  uni- 
versal harmony,  which  reigns  among  the  works  of  God. 

The  prevalent  neglect  of  this  divine  instrument,  designed 
to  contribute  its  share  to  the  symmetry  and  the  grace,  as  well 
as  to  the  immediate  uses,  of  life,  not  only  leaves  many  even 
of  those  whose  professional  duties  render  an  agreeable  and 
skilful  use  of  it  indispensable,  disqualified  for  their  proper  oc- 
cupation, by  inability  to  exert  it  aright,  but  subjects  them  to 
pain  and  suffering  and  exhaustion,  and  consequent  loss  of 
health,  or  even,  ultimately,  of  life,  from  unskilful  and  inap- 
propriate modes  of  exerting  the  voice;  and,  as  not  unfre- 
quently  happens  to  speakers  of  this  description,  it  renders, 
from  the  same  causes,  their  whole  utterance  disagreeable  and 
even  painful  to  others. 

Elocutionists,  often  have  occasion,  in  their  professional  ca- 
pacity, to  see  instances  of  the  noblest  powers  of  mind  ren- 
dered unavailing  for  the  purposes  of  public  speaking,  by 
neglected  habit,  or  erroneous  cultivation,  in  early  life.  A  lit- 
tle daily  attention  to  the  subject,  would  have  easily  secured, 
in  season,  a  clear,  agreeable,  melodious  tone  to  many  speakers 
who  now  habitually  exert  their  organs  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
thwart  the  purposes  of  speaking,  and  even  to  produce  pain  or 
disgust  in  the  hearer.  Persuasion  must  ever  be  up-hill  work, 
where  a  harsh  and  grating  effect  of  voice  is  incessantly  jarring 
the  nerves,  and  undoing  the  harmonious  effect  of  sentiment. 

The  preacher,  more  than  any  other  speaker,  needs  all 
available  aids  of  culture,  in  the  use  of  the  voice.   His  duties, — 


130  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

as  was  mentioned  before, — ^i-equire  that  he  spend  a  large  part 
of  every  day  in  strictly  sedentary  and  intellectual  occupation, 
—-a  condition  extremely  unfavourable  to  the  free  and  ener- 
getic use  of  the  organs  of  speech.  Close  study  constrains  the 
body,  checks  the  circulation,  impedes  equally  the  functions  of 
respiration  and  digestion,  and  is  necessarily  followed  by  lan- 
guor and  weakness.  A  strong,  full,  and  smooth  voice,  must, 
to  one  subjected  daily  to  such  experience,  be  the  result  of  a 
rare  original  force  of  constitution  and  vivacity  of  function, 
which  unfriendly  influences  have  not  had  the  power  to  im- 
pair. Rigorous  application  of  mind  is  injurious  to  the  charac- 
ter of  the  voice  ;  as,  by  impairing,  through  impeded  and  im- 
perfect respiration,  the  vigour  of  the  larynx,  the  glottis,  and 
the  vocal  ligaments,  as  well  as  the  bronchial  tubes  and  the 
air-cells  of  the  lungs,  it  generates  what  musicians  designate  as 
'impure  tone,' — that  imperfectly  vocalized  sound,  which  be- 
speaks a  mode  of  forming  the  voice  more  or  less  painful  and 
exhausting,  as  well  as  disagreeable  to  the  ear.  Frequent  ac- 
cess to  the  open  air,  an  habitually  cheerful  mood,  and  the  ge- 
nial influence  of  social  feeling,  are  all  essential  to  the  free  and 
agreeable  exercise  of  the  voice.  The  physiologist  can  very 
easily  account  for  the  feeble,  thin,  hollow,  dry,  unmusical 
voices  which  are  so  often  heard  in  our  pulpits. 


Remedies  for  Defective  Culture. 

The  preacher,  more  than  any  other  public  speaker,  requires 
the  physical  and  mental  influences  of  muscular  exercise,  recre- 
ation, repose,  change  of  scene  and  occupation,  vocal  practice 
in  singing,  reciting,  declaiming,  reading,  and  whatever  else 
tends  to  exhilarate  the  spirits,  promote  health,  or  impart  power 
to  the  voice.*  He  should  possess  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
structure  of  the  human  frame,  that  he  may  use  his  vocal  or- 
gans intelligently  and  effectively,  spare  himself  fatigue  and 

*  The  volume  entitled  Orthophony,  or  Vocal  Culture  in  Elocution, 
contains  directions,  in  detail,  for  the  appropriate  discipline  of  the  organs 
of  voice. 


CULTIVATION  OP  THE  VOICE. — REMEDIES.  131 

pain  and  injury,  and  be  able  to  sustain  long  and  vigorously 
the  exercise  of  the  voice  in  public  speaking.  Due  practice 
soon  renders  an  hour's  reading  or  speaking  an  invigorating 
and  inspiring  rather  than  an  exhausting  process.  The  true 
and  skilful  use  of  the  voice,  in  these  forms  of  action,  is  similar, 
in  effect,  to  the  easy  and  pleasurable  practice  of  an  hour's 
singing.  A  well  vocalized  tone  is,  in  any  case,  the  same  thing 
in  its  nature  and  formation,  and  consequently  in  its  effects, 
both  on  the  vocal  organs  of  him  who  produces  it,  and  on  the 
ear  of  those  who  hear  it :  its  character  is  that  of  a  sound 
pure,  easy,  and  agreeable,  even  in  its  utmost  energy. 

The  prevalent  opinion,  that  the  study  and  practice  of  elo- 
cution lead  to  the  formation  of  an  artificial  style  of  voice,  is 
founded  on  one  of  those  false  impressions  which  ignorance  and 
indolence  are  so  prone  to  foster  as  pleas  for  error  and  defect. 
The  elocutionist  would  say  to  the  student,  Select,  for  study, 
the  most  natural,  smooth,  and  pleasing  voice  that  you  hear  in 
others,  and  observe  its  peculiar  properties  ; — select  the  cor- 
responding tones  in  your  own :  cultivate  these,  and  cherish 
them  into  habits  :  watch  the  sound  of  the  human  voice  as  it  is 
affected  by  ennobling  and  bland  emotions,  by  courage,  joy, 
love,  admiration,  tranquillity ; — dwell  on  such  tones  till  your 
ear  has  acquired  a  relish  and  a  thirst  for  them :  your  voice 
will  then  become  instinctively  genial,  as  a  matter  of  predilec- 
tion and  tendency.  No  one  whose  ear  is  unperverted,  utters  a 
joyous  emotion  in  a  hollow,  sepulchral  tone,  which  habit  seems 
to  have  fixed  irretrievably  on  some  speakers  in  the  pulpit :  no 
one  naturally  utters  the  warm  and  tender  notes  of  love  or  ad- 
miration, in  the  cold  and  hard  voice  which  so  often  falls  from 
the  mouth  of  the  preacher :  the  language  of  a  serene  and 
tranquil  spirit  cannot  be  uttered  in  the  harsh  and  hacking  ac- 
cents of  a  controversial  dispute ; — the  calm  expanse  of  the 
ocean  or  the  heavens,  and  the  quiet  flow  of  the  stream,  sug- 
gest a  very  different  lesson  to  the  discerning  ear,  and  prompt 
the  voice  to  the  placid,  smooth,  and  full  yet  gentle  sounds  of 
entire  repose. 

Elocution  enjoins  on  the  preacher  no  false  depth  or  artificial 


132  PULPIT  ELOCtJTiOlC. 

hollowness  of  voice.  It  reminds  him  only  of  the  natural  effect 
of  solemnity,  awe,  and  reverence,  in  at  once  deepening  and 
enlarging  and  gently  filling  every  vocal  sound,  and  converting 
it  to  a  natural  and  perfect  unison  with  all  those  tones  of  ma- 
jesty and  grandeur,  which  nature  is  ever  breathing  into  the  ear 
of  man,  from  ocean  and  river  and  forest,  from  the  tempest  and 
the  thunder;  and  which  flow  from  the  noblest  of  all  the  in- 
struments of  music.  The  practice  of  elocution  leads  the  min- 
ister, in  his  acts  of  devotion,  to  attune  his  utterance  to  the 
great  laws  which  the  Creator  has  written  on  the  human  ear. 
It  forbids  him  to  belittle  and  degrade  a  solemn  and  sacred  act 
by  the  high,  light,  and  trivial  effect  of  a  pitch  appropriate  only 
to  what  is  trite  and  familiar  and  insignificant.  It  enables  him 
to  select,  from  the  natural  range  of  his  own  voice,  those  notes 
which  even  the  intuitive  perceptions  of  childhood  recognize  as 
intimations  of  the  overshadowing  presence  of  a  great  thought, 
or  as  the  swell  of  a  vast  emotion,  rising  from  the  heart  to  the 
lips. 

Effects  of  due  Cultivation, 

The  cultivation  of  elocution  will  enable  the  preacher  to  dis- 
criminate, with  perfect  precision,  and  to  execute,  with  natural 
freedom,  all  the  varying  modes  of  voice,  as  they  come  and  go 
in  successive  utterance.  His  expression  will  be  adapted  to 
each,  in  all  its  fulness  and  peculiarity  of  effect.  His  whole 
mode  of  voice  will  be  inspired  with  life  and  truth  and  power. 
The  native  dignity  of  man,  stamped  on  the  noble  and  eloquent 
accents  which  assign  him  his  rank  in  the  creation,  will  be  au- 
dible in  every  word  that  falls  from  his  lips. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  an  individual  whose  ear  was 
once  opened  to  discriminate  the  quality  and  character  of  sound, 
to  give  forth  those  muttering  and  grumbling  effects  of  voice, 
those  guttural  and  croaking  notes,  those  snuffling,  nasal,  and 
wiry  twangings,  those  barking  explosions  of  unmitigated 
abruptness,  those  *  softly  sweet,'  effeminate  mincings,  by  which 
the  pulpit  is  so  often  degraded. 

To  man  regarded  as  an  intelligent  and  gregarious  animal 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  TOICE. EFFECTS.  ISS 

merely,  there  is  something  attractive  and  interesting  in  the 
very  sound  of  the  human  voice.  The  awful  desolation  of  ut- 
ter solitude  is  never  more  impressively  felt  than  when  the 
forlorn  being  becomes  fully  conscious  of  his  forsaken  condi- 
tion, by  the  oppressive  weight  of  unbroken  silence.  Thi» 
truth  the  poet  Cowper  has  imaged  most  strikingly  in  his  sup-^ 
posed  soliloquy  of  Selkirk,  when  he  represents  him  as  deplor- 
ing the  doom  which  condemns  him  never  more  to  '  hear  the 
sweet  music  of  speech.' 

The  attainments  of  distinguished  vocalists  serve  to  show 
what,  in  corresponding  degree,  might  be  effected  by  the  du© 
cultivation  of  the  voice,  for  the  various  purposes  of  reading, 
recitation,  and  speaking.  Not  that  a  merely  artificial  culture 
can  ever  be  desirable,  either  for  the  useful  purposes  of  speech, 
or  the  tasteful  enjoyment  of  elocution.  But  let  us  select, 
from  the  private  circle,  the  example  of  voice  which  best 
pleases  the  ear,  and  most  vividly  affects  our  sympathy, 
whether  in  the  appropriate  and  impressive  reading  of  a  page 
of  literature,  or  in  the  freer  and  simpler  form  of  intelligent 
conversation  in  the  social  circle,  and  affectionate  communica- 
tion by  the  fireside.  Let  us  select  the  public  speaker  whose 
voice  perfectly  true,  easy,  natural,  chaste,  yet  vivid  and  im- 
pressive, seems  to  spring  directly  from  the  heart  of  the  man, 
and  to  dwell  equally  on  the  ear  and  in  the  heart  of  his  hear- 
ers, as  a  perfect  imbodying  of  the  whole  soul  whence  it 
sprung.  Let  the  instance  be  one  in  which  the  human  organ 
is  felt  to  be  no  unworthy  channel  of  the  messages  of  peace 
and  love  from  on  high  :  let  it  even  be  one  in  which  the  beau- 
ty of  perfect  excellence  seems  realized  ;  so  that, — as  some- 
times happens,  even  in  our  own  day, — '  a  world  lying  in 
wickedness'  is  induced  to  listen  to  the  prophet,  as  to  '  one 
that  playeth  skilfully  on  an  instrument,'  and  to  sit,  for  a  time, 
rapt  in  admiration  of  the  music  of  his  voice.  Let  the  sup- 
posed example  be  carried  even  so  high,  it  will  still  be,  in 
most  cases,  but  a  specimen  of  what  intuitive  observation  and 
undisciplined  skill  may  accomplish. — Suppose,  on  the  other 
hand,  an  individual  trained  under  advantages  no  more  than 
12 


134  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

equal  to  those  which  every  vocal  musician  confers  upon  him- 
self, who  allows  himself  the  customary  opportunities  of  sys- 
tematic and  scientific  cultivation  for  successive  years.  What 
might  not  a  speaker  so  trained  accomplish,  with  the  genius, 
especially,  which  insures  distinction  in  other  pursuits,  and 
with  a  soul  absorbed  in  the  spirit  of  his  vocation  ? 

Training  to  such  extent,  (thanks  to  the  philosophic  spirit 
and  enthusiastic  application  of  the  great  American  analyst, 
Dr.  James  Rush  !)*  has  now  become  a  thing  easily  practica- 
ble to  the  spirit  of  diligence  and  perseverance.  The  means 
of  attaining  to  high  excellence, — to  comparative  perfection, — 
are  now  offered  to  every  student  of  elocution,  and  exhibited 
with  a  perspicuity,  precision,  and  certainty,  which  leave  no 
excuse  for  skepticism  or  ignorance. 

Effects  of  Cultivation  on  the  '  Quality*'\  of  the  Voice. 

The  student  who  will  faithfully  apply  his  powers  to  the 
mastering  of  Dr.  Rush's  system,  will  be  enabled  so  to  use  his 
voice  that  every  truth  which  he  utters,  every  emotion  which 
he  endeavours  to  impart,  will  be  carried  home  to  the  minds 
and  hearts  of  his  hearers,  '  clothed  in  fitting  sound.'  Every 
mode  of  vocality  which  is  essential  to  expression,  will  be  fully 
at  his  command.  We  shall  hear,  in  his  utterance,  an  entire 
exemption  from  all  those  vulgarisms  .of  voice  which  degrade 
the  pulpit,  when  uttered  within  its  precincts  :  we  shall  recog- 
nize, in  his  tones,  the  perfect  '  purity' J  and  subdued  manner, 

*  See  his  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice,  passim. 

t  The  effect  prodace  don  the  ear  by  the  mere  sound  of  the  voice,  as 
agreeable  or  otherwise.  Thus,  we  recognize  one  voice  as  harsh,  another 
as  smooth ;  one  as  thin,  another  as  full. 

X  Wliat  the  musician  denominates  '  pure  tone,'  or  '  head  tone,' — from 
its  resonance  in  the  head, — is  nothing  else  than  that  perfectly  liquid  qual- 
ity of  voice,  which  is  its  natural  perfection, — as  is  evinced  in  the  untu- 
tored utterance  of  early  childhood, — and  which  corresponds  to  the  sound 
of  a  flute,  when  played  on  by  a  skilful  performer,  in  contrast  with  the 
mere  learner,  whose  manner  is  recognized  in  consequence  of  its  harsh 
and  hissing  sound. 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. ARTICULATION.  135 

which  pathos,  tranquillity,  and  solemnity  impart ; — the  ample 
and  noble  effect  of  grandeur  and  sublimity,  in  the  appropriate 
style  of  a  voice  trained  to  roundness,  smoothness,  and  fulness* 
the  characteristic  qualities  demanded  by  the  larger  dimen- 
sions of  space,  and  the  stronger  incitement  of  feeling,  in  pub- 
lic speaking,  as  it  differs  from  private  conversation.* 

Articulation. 

The  well-trained  speaker  will  be  distinguished,  moreover, 
by  the  perfect  exactness  yet  perfect  ease  of  his  articulation, 
and  even  by  its  brilliancy  of  effect  and  positive  beauty  of 
sound,  in  consequence  of  the  exact  adjustment  and  free  play 
of  the  organs  of  speech,  in  every  function  which  they  perform, 
and  in  every  sound  which  they  execute. 

A  distinct  and  perfect  enunciation  is  of  the  utmost  service 
to  the  public  reader  or  speaker ;  as  it  not  only  secures  to 
him  the  indispensable  condition  of  intelligible  communication, 
and  gives  an  intellectual  clearness  and  finish  to  his  style  of 
expression,  but,  by  the  definite  and  precise  character  which 
it  imparts  to  every  sound  of  his  voice,  it  enables  him  to  dis- 
pense with  that  mere  loudness  which  would  otherwise  exhaust 
his  own  strength,  and  annoy  the  ears  of  his  audience.  Pure 
tone  and  distinct  articulation  enable  a  speaker  of  comparative- 
ly limited  vocal  power  to  convey  his  words,  with  perfect  ease, 
through  a  large  extent  of  space.  The  result  is  similar  to  that 
which  attends  the  performance  of  the  softest  strains  of  vocal 
music,  by  a  skilful  singer :  the  ear  loses  neither  his  notes  nor 
his  syllables  ;  as  he  delivers  every  tone  with  perfect  clearness 
and  purity  of  sound,  and  every  letter  with  exact  though  deli- 
cate execution,  in  its  articulation. 

The  faulty  character  of  early  education,  however,  in  very 

*  The  perfect  voice  of  the  accomplished  elocutionist,  Dr.  Rush  has 
designated  by  the  introduction  of  a  new  but  expressive  term, — '  orotund,' 
— ^in  allusion  not  only  to  the  rotundity  of  its  sound,  but,  also,  the  actual 
position  of  the  interior  and  back  part  of  the  mouth,  by  which  it  is  pro- 
duced. 


136 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


many  instances,  leaves  the  professional  speaker  quite  defi- 
cient in  correct  habit  as  to  enunciation.  Not  a  few  preach- 
ers are,  in  this  respect,  inaccurate  and  remiss,  to  an  extent 
which  hinders  their  usefulness,  and  degrades  their  address. 

The  same  remark  applies  to  the  habitual  accent  and  pro- 
nunciation of  many  speakers  in  the  pulpit,  who,  instead  of 
exhibiting  the  appropriate  refinement  of  good  education,  de- 
Bcend  to  the  style  of  vulgar  negligence  and  slovenliness. 

The  discipline  of  the  vocal  organs  which  is  prescribed  by 
the  art  of  elocution,  wliile  it  would  guard  the  speaker  against 
all  such  faults,  would  save  him  from  the  opposite  ones  of  fini- 
cal nicety  and  affectation.* 

Force  and '  Stress.* 

The  cultivated  speaker  will  be  felt,  in  his  power  of  produ- 
cing, on  the  requisite  occasions,  any  effect  of  force  and  vol- 
ume of  voice, — from  the  approach  to  whispering,  which  ex- 
treme earnestness  produces,  to  the  full  body  of  tone  thrown 
out  in  warm  and  powerful  exclamations,  resembling,  perhaps, 
the  style  even  of  a  hearty  shout  or  piercing  call.  The  thor- 
ough-going cultivation  of  the  voice  will  impart  to  every  word 
uttered  by  the  speaker  its  peculiar  modification  of  force,  as 
regards  the  characteristic  commencement  and  termination  of 
sounds  expressive  of  emotion.f  His  tones  of  command  will 
be  marked  by  the  boldness  and  decision  with  which  the  ac- 
cented sound  of  every  emphatic  word  commences,^ — his  tones 
of  entreaty  by  sounds  commencing  softly,  but  swelling  out 
earnestly,  and  afterwards  diminishing  :§  his  utterance  in  the 
mood  of  stern  and  determined  resolve,  will  be  marked,  on  the 

*  An  extensive  course  of  practice  in  orthoepy,  is  contained  in  the 
American  Elocutionist. 

t  The  modes  of  force  above  referred  to,  are  termed,  by  Dr.  Rush,  the 
'•tress,'  (the  maximum,  or  sometimes,  the  ictus,)  of  the  voice,  in  a  given 
•ound ;  as  in  the  gentle  '  swell'  o^  pity,  ox  the  abrupt '  explosion'  oi  anger. 

X  '  RadicaP  (initial)  '  Stress.^ 

^  '  Median  Stress, — force  attaining  its  maximum  at  the  middle  of  a 
sound. 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. PITCH.  137 

contrary,  by  the  abrupt  explosive  termination  of  characteris- 
tic sounds  ;*  and  his  tones  of  surprise  will  exhibit  the  pe- 
culiar intensity  of  this  emotion  in  its  characteristic  tendency 
to  mark,  with  special  force,  both  the  opening  and  the  closing 
of  emphatic  sounds  :t  his  exclamations  of  impassioned  excite- 
ment will  be  distinguished  not  merely  by  vague  and  general 
loudness,  or  by  an  ordinary  swell  of  voice,  but  by  a  well- 
marked  and  highly  characterized  utterance  which  lays  an  ob- 
vious stress  on  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  of  ev- 
ery emphatic  sound.  |  It  is  thus  that  the  language  of  emo- 
tion is  rendered  intelligible  by  nature's  distinct  alphabet  of 
sound  being  preserved  specifically  to  heart  and  ear,  while  the 
unpractised  speaker,  whose  voice  has  not  been  disciplined  on 
these  distinctions,  utters  his  words  with  the  '  uncertain  sound* 
of  the  trumpet  unskilfully  blown, — at  which  '  no  man  armeth 
himself  for  the  battle.' 


Pitch. 

The  discipline  of  the  voice  imparts  to  the  practised  speaker 
an  indescribable  power  over  the  feelings  of  his  audience,  not 
merely  by  his  command  over  every  mood  and  form  of  force 
by  which  the  soul  may  be  roused  or  tranquillized,  impelled 
or  subdued,  but  not  less  by  the  range  which  it  gives  to  his 
voice  over  all  the  keys  of  expressive  utterance,  as  high  or 
low-pitched,  lively  or  grave,  gay  or  sombre,  brisk  or  solemn. 
The  unpractised  reader  or  speaker  has  but  little  compass  of 
utterance,  and  clings  to  the  same  unvaried  notes.  The  dis- 
cipHned  voice  traverses,  with  the  utmost  facility,  and  with 
electric  effect,  from  pole  to  pole  of  the  scale  of  expressive 
tones,  touches  every  point  with  perfect  precision  and  definite 
meaning,  and  throws  out,  at  pleasure,  the  most  impressive  ef- 
fects of  contrast,  whenever  the  sudden  shifting  of  the  current 

*  '  Vanishing^  (final)  '  Stress.^ 

t '  Compound  Stress' — combining  the  effects   of  both  '  Radical'  and 
'  Vanishing' '  Stress.' 
J  '  Tlvorough!  (pervading)  '  Stress  J 
12* 


138 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


of  language  and  emotion,  requires  a  marked  transition  of  vo- 
cal effect. 

It  is  such  reading  only  which  can  present  the  tones  of  the 
heart,  in  the  language  of  the  Psalmist,  as  he  passes  from  the 
lowest  depths  of  despondency  and  remorse,  to  the  highest 
fitrains  of  joy  and  praise.  Many  of  the  hymns  so  commonly 
read  with  a  dead  level  of  voice,  require  similar  variations  of 
utterance,  to  give  anything  like  true  and  soul-felt  effect  to  the 
amotions  which  they  were  designed  to  express.  The  habitual 
tones  of  many  readers  of  hymns,  are  so  cold,  so  lifeless,  and 
inexpressive,  so  flatly  prosaic  and  mechanical,  that  the  whole 
«tyle  is  virtually  a  desecration  of  the  sacred  lyrics,  which 
were  composed  for  the  express  purpose  of  breathing  a  higher 
and  purer  life  into  the  exercise  of  devotion. — The  miserable 
defectiveness  of  education  as  it  is,  never  appears  more  strik- 
ing than  when  the  minister  who  has  spent  a  large  part  of 
life,  the  whole  period  from  the  commencement  of  his  aca- 
demic career  to  the  close  of  his  professional  course, — in  pro- 
fessed preparation  for  the  right  discharge  of  the  duties  of  the 
pulpit,  'goes  through  the  ceremony'  of  reading  a  hymn,  as  if 
it  were  a  page  of  an  almanac,  with  a  perpetually  returning 
clink  of  voice,  that  seems  to  resemble  nothing  so  much  as  the 
never  varying  sound  of  the  hammer  on  the  anvil. 

No  reader  needs  so  complete  a  control  over  the  pitch  and 
range  of  the  voice  as  the  preacher.  The  deepest  notes  of 
profound  awe,  solemnity,  and  reverence,  are  indispensable  to 
his  utterance,  not  as  an  occasional  resort  for  variety  and  ef- 
fect, but  as  the  prevalent  strain  of  devout  expression,  whether 
in  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  and  of  hymns,  or  in  the  ap- 
propriate effect  of  a  sermon  which  happens  to  exemplify,  with 
more  or  less  frequency,  the  language  of  profound  emotion. 
None  but  a  practised  speaker  can  sustain  long  the  peculiar 
organic  action  requisite  for  the  production  of  deep-toned  ut- 
terance. It  is,  of  all  modes  of  voice,  the  most  exhausting  to 
organs  not  expanded  and  invigorated  by  special  exercise. 
The  case  is  analogous  to  that  of  a  vocalist  whose  natural 
*  register'  and  habitual  practice  are  '  tenor,'  changing,  for  an 


CULTIVATION  OP  THE  VOICE. — ^PITCH.  139 

hour,  to  the  exercise  of  singing  '  bass'.  The  effect  is  usually 
felt,  in  such  cases,  to  be  altogether  enfeebling.  Yet  the  same 
individual  will  sustain,  without  fatigue,  his  wonted  form  of 
vocal  exertion,  for  a  whole  evening.  The  average  voiccj  of 
conversation  and  unimpassioned  reading  or  speaking,  is  in 
the  '  tenor'  or  middle  range  of  notes  ;  that  of  solemn  and  deep 
emotion,  in  public  address,  is  relatively  as  low  as 'bass.* 
The  latter  is  properly  the  prevalent  style  of  the  pulpit,  which 
demands  the  strong  and  impressive  utterance  of  passages  nat- 
urally pitched  on  a  low  key ;  while  conversation,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  limited  space  which  it  requires  the  voice  to  fill, 
admits  the  easier  task  of  vocal  exertion  on  a  low  pitch,  uni- 
ted with  a  softened  force. 

Persons  conversant,  to  any  extent,  with  the  nature  of  the 
process  of  '  phonation,'*  will  at  once  perceive  the  peculiar 
necessity  of  vocal  training  for  the  preacher,  as  it  arises  from 
the  special  form  of  utterance  connected  with  his  professional 
functions.  Any  ear,  however,  can  readily  detect  the  helpless 
and  inexpressive  hollo wness  into  which  the  preacher's  voice 
so  often  falls  in  the  strains  of  deep  feeling, — a  fault  against 
which  due  cultivation  and  practice  would  be  an  infallible  safe- 
guard. 

The  dreaded  reaction  of  nature,  on  Monday,  after  the  ex- 
cessive exertions  of  the  Sabbath, — a  thing  which  preachers 
of  delicate  or  susceptible  organization  so  often  anticipate  with 
a  sense  of  coming  misery,  is,  no  doubt,  caused,  in  part,  by  the 
unreasonable  extent  of  exertion  encountered  in  repeating  the 
effort  of  public  speaking  twice,  or  even  thrice,  on  the  same  day. 
But  the  chief  cause  of  exhaustion  is  usually  to  be  traced  to  the 
state  of  the  larynx  and  the  bronchial  tubes,  induced  by  the 
frequent  repetition  and  long  continued  use  of  the  lowest  notes 
of  the  voice,  which  of  necessity  cause  the  expenditure  of  a 
comparatively  large  supply  of  breath,  in  their  production  and 
formation. 

A  rigorous  course  of  vocal  exercise,  serving,  for  the  organs 
of  speech,  the  same  purpose  with  powerful  gymnastic  disci- 

*  The  formation  of  vocal  sound. 


140  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

pline  for  the  limbs,  is  the  only  security  for  the  long  continued 
possession  of  strength  of  utterance,  especially  if  exerted  on 
low  notes.  The  parts  so  severely  taxed  must  be  protected  by 
exercise  adapted  both  to  indurate  and  supple  the  muscular 
apparatus,  so  as  to  impart,  at  once,  vigor  and  flexibihty  to  the 
voice. 

The  unreflecting  observer  often  contents  himself,  in  view 
of  the  professional  difficulty  now  referred  to,  with  prescribing 
to  the  preacher  the  habitual  use  of  a  higher  key  of  voice,  in 
his  public  performances,  as  a  sufficient  security  against  inju- 
rious effiicts.  But  it  is  forgotten,  in  these  instances,  that  the 
preacher,  if  true  to  his  office,  must  habitually  use  the  natural 
and  proper  tones  of  deep  and  solemn  emotion ;  and,  although 
it  is  certain,  that  evils  not  unfrequently  arise  from  the  undue 
prevalence  of  one  strain  of  feeling  and  of  utterance,  yet  it  is 
not  less  so,  that  the  very  themes  on  which  the  preacher  dis- 
courses, require,  for  the  most  part,  a  deepened  note  of  voice. 

There  is,  in  fact,  no  alternative,  in  most  cases,  but  due  prac- 
tice and  training,  as  a  security  against  those  fatal  inroads  of 
disability  and  disease,  which  are  so  frequent  among  the  mem- 
bers of  the  clerical  profession.  Powerful  constitutions  and 
cheerful  tempers  enable  individuals  to  bear  much  injury  with- 
out sinking  under  it.  The  cerebral  and  nervous  systems 
(not  to  speak  of  the  muscular  frame)  of  some  men,  enable 
them  even  to  bid  defiance  to  the  effects  of  habitual  intemper- 
ance, and  to  attain,  in  spite  of  these,  to  a  vigorous  old  age, — 
as  in  the  case  of  the  Scottish  highlander,  whose  daily  potations 
would  destroy  most  Americans,  in  a  few  years,  or  even  months. 
But  no  sound-minded  person  thinks  of  quoting  such  cases  as 
authority  for  indulging  in  such  practices.  The  case  is  similar, 
as  regards  the  tear  and  wear  of  vocal  exertion  :  if  not  coun- 
teracted by  rational  preventives,  it  cuts  off,  silently  but  surely, 
its  annual  multitudes  of  victims.  The  seasonable  precautions 
which  a  proper  early  education  would  prescribe,  might  obviate 
all  such  evils.  But,  as  matters  are,  this  result  is  left  to  the 
choice  of  the  adult  student,  at  a  stage  when  the  remedy,  if  not 
speedily  applied,  may  prg^yQ^t^  J^.^ 


CULTIVATION  OP  THE  VOICE. *  INFLECTION.'  141 

*  InfiectionJ 
The  systematic  cultivation  of  the  voice,  is  in  no  respect 
more  important  to  true  and  effective  expression,  than  in  its 
proper  inflection,  or,  in  other  words,  its  transits  upward  and 
downward  on  the  scale,  in  accommodation  to  the  variations  of 
thought  and  feeling,  whether  in  emphatic  words,  or  the  suc- 
cessive clauses  of  a  sentence.  The  utterance  of  unpractised 
and  unskilful  readers,  is  usually  marked  by  the  absence  of  in- 
flection, and,  consequently,  a  prevailing  monotony  ;  or  by  me- 
chanical inflections,  which  never  rise  or  fall  beyond  a  certain 
note,  and  which  necessarily  give  a  measured  correspondence 
of  parts  to  all  sentences,  alike  ;  gliding  up  at  one  clause  and 
down  at  another,  in  a  regularly  alternating  see-saw  of  sound, 
which  destroys  the  natural  variety  of  thought  and  emotion. 
This  uniformly  recurring  verbal  melody,  resembles,  in  effect, 
the  singing  of  all  the  hymns  in  a  book  to  the  same  tune.  An- 
other common  fault  in  inflection,  is  that  of  overdoing  it ;  so 
that  the  upward  and  downward  slides  are  rendered  mechani- 
cally and  disagreeably  prominent,  projecting  themselves  upon 
the  ear,  as  the  jagged  rocks  of  wild  scenery  upon  the  eye  ;  or 
that  of  exaggerating  every  inflection  into  a  double  form,  com- 
prising both  slides  in  every  distinctive  or  emphatic  accent. 
This  style  destroys  all  repose  and  dignity  of  voice,  by  its 
jerking  turns  and  reduplications,  and  its  overanxious  empha- 
sis. Another  error,  still,  converts  all  poetry  into  prose  by 
substituting  the  pointed  and  marked  inflections  of  common  dis- 
course, for  the  reduced  and  melodious  ones  of  verse.  This 
fault  seems  to  extract  the  appropriate  feeling  from  a  hymn, 
and  to  bring  it  down  from  devotional  elevation  to  mere  prac- 
tical associations  of  utility,  such  as  are  appreciated  by  the  un- 
derstanding, rather  than  felt  in  the  heart.  But  the  most  preva- 
lent of  all  faults  in  inflection,  is  that  of  varying  the  voice  by  a 
certain  personal  melody  of  tone,  habitual  to  the  reader  alone  ; 
sliding  upward  or  downward  or  waving  and  undulating,  at  the 
dictate  of  a  false  ear,  without  any  regard  to  the  expression  of 
thought  or  feeling,  and  in  obedience  to  no  law  but  the  accus- 


142  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

tomed  gait  of  the  individual's  peculiar  style  of  utterance,  con- 
tracted at  school.  This  fault  constitutes  what  is  termed,  in 
popular  language,  *  a  tone.'  It  marks  the  man,  but  does  not 
express  his  meaning.     Its  effect  resembles  that  of  singing 

*  out  of  tune,'  and  adding  to  false  intonation  a  vitiated  melody. 
Whatever  may  be  the  sentiment  which  such  a  speaker  utters, 
its  effect  is  neutralized,  more  or  less,  by  this  trick  of  habit. 
Yet  it  is  a  fault  from  which  few  speakers  comparatively  are 
exempt.  Some  exemplify  it  more  conspicuously ;  others, 
less  so :  but  it  is  an  error  in  elocution  which  holds  possession 
of  the  pulpit,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  genuine  expressive  utter- 
ance that  nature  prompts,  and  which  alone  can  elicit  a  true 
personal  sympathy. 

A  degree  of  attention,  no  greater  than  is  usually  given,  in 
the  cultivation  of  vocal  music,  to  the  mastering  of  the  gamut, 
would  cure  all  the  faults  which  usually  disfigure  the  inflections 
of  pulpit  elocution,  and  would  enable  the  preacher  to  speak 
with  effect  both  to  head  and  heart,  in  the  appropriate  language 
of  inflection.  The  simple  and  complex*  slides  of  the  voice 
upward  and  downward  on  the  scale,  are  the  only  proper  means 
of  drawing  intellectual  distinctions,  of  indicating  the  constitu- 
ent and  relative  parts  of  a  sentiment,  as  these  are  subdivided 
and  arranged  in  the  consecutive  clauses  of  a  sentence,  or  of 
conveying  those  emotions  which  predominate  in  the  heart  of 
the  speaker,  and  which  he  wishes  to  transfer  to  those  of  his 
audience. 

<  Inflection,'  whether  it  is  exemplified  in  the  form  of  the 

*  slide'  or  the  *  wave,'  may  be  analyzed  scientifically,  in  the 
manner  exhibited  in  Dr.  Rush's  work  on  the  voice,  by  the 
application  of  the  musical  scale ;  or  it  may  be  studied  practi- 
cally, by  attentive  observation  of  the  actual  turns  of  voice,  in 
the  exercises  of  reading  and  speaking.  But,  in  either  case,  it 
requires  a  close  and  penetrating  application  of  the  attention  to 
nice  and  exact  distinctions  of  sound.  It  cannot  be  mastered 
by  ordinary  inspection  or  transient  notice.      But  the  due 

*  The  complex  or  double  slide  of  the  voice  Dr.  Rush  terms  the  '  wave.' 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. ^MOVEMENT.*  148 

study  and  practice  of  this  part  of  elocution  will  be  richly  re- 
warded, in  the  acquisition  of  a  skilful  and  effective  control 
over  the  true  *  melody'  of  speech  and  reading,  and,  conse- 
quently, over  that  music  of  the  voice  which  plays,  at  the  will 
of  the  orator,  the  tune  of  thought  or  that  of  feeling.  Inflec- 
tions are,  always,  the  vocal  exposition  of  a  sentence :  they  are 
the  interpreters  of  speech  and  enforce  its  meaning ;  without 
them,  reading  is  but  the  senseless  syllabication  of  the  juvenile 
learner,  in  his  unpractised  steps,  when  the  spirit  of  a  passage 
is  merged  in  the  mere  sound  of  words  as  such.  The  voice  of 
the  skilful  reader,  aided  by  appropriate  inflections,  strikes  a 
thought  home  to  both  head  and  heart,  and  awakes  in  the  soul 
every  kindred  association.  Inflection  is,  in  all  cases,  one  of 
the  most  useful  and  effectual  instruments  of  true  eloquence. 
It  is  the  purest  and  most  brilliant  of  all  the  ornaments  which 
a  consummate  elocution  confers  on  the  voice.  It  is  the  ap- 
propriate language  of  a  cultivated  intellect  and  a  discerning 
spirit ;  and  it  is,  not  less  distinctively,  the  melody  into  which 
emotion  breathes  the  life  and  power  of  expression.* 

^MovementJ 

Another  distinguishing  trait  of  a  cultivated  voice,  and 
one  which  is  of  the  utmost  moment  to  the  preacher,  is  the 
complete  control  which  it  ensures  over  the  *  movement,'  or 
rate  of  time  observed  in  utterance,  as  adapted  to  different 
emotions.  A  slight  observation  is  sufficient  to  enable  any  ear 
to  detect  the  common  faults,  in  this  particular,  which  are  ex- 
hibited in  the  pulpit.  Some  preachers,  desiring  to  secure  a 
plain,  familiar  style  of  expression,  resembling  that  of  conver- 
sation, run  into  the  error  of  too  great  rapidity.  A  similar  re- 
sult is  produced  by  the  constitutional  vivacity  of  others.     In 

*■  The  various  forms  of  inflection  will  be  found  scientifically  arranged 
and  designated  in  Dr.  Rush's  Philosophy  of  the  Voice.  They  are 
exemplified  in  technical  detail,  in  the  volume  on  Orthophony,  formerly 
mentioned,  and  practically  applied  to  an  appropriate  selection  of  pas- 
sages in  the  American  Elocutionist. 


144  PULPIT  ELOCUTlOlJr. 

either  case,  dignity  and  impressiveness,  and  even  distinctness, 
are,  more  or  less,  sacrificed  to  impulse  and  velocity. 

The  audience  which  the  minister  of  religion  usually  ad- 
dresses, is  of  a  mixed  character,  as  to  intellectual  discipline 
and  ability,  and  is  largely  made  up  of  persons  who  are  daily 
engaged  in  the  practical  pursuits  of  active  business.  Minds 
addicted  to  habits  of  this  description,  do  not  usually  prove 
rapid  in  the  formation  of  strictly  intellectual  associations : 
they  need  a  comparatively  full  allowance  of  time  to  aid  the 
development  of  a  train  of  thought.  An  audience  formed  of 
students  and  professional  men,  accustomed  to  facility  and 
rapidity  of  mental  action,  can  more  easily  keep  up  with  the 
succession  of  ideas  created  by  a  reader  whose  gait  of  voice 
inclines  to  velocity.  The  habit  of  silent  reading  enables  the 
practised  student  to  follow  the  succession  of  thought  with  the 
utmost  rapidity  ;  and  his  discipline  of  intellect  renders  him 
competent  even  to  foresee  a  speaker's  drift  of  thought,  and 
anticipate  his  train  of  argument.  But  the  man  of  merely  ope- 
rative and  practical  habit,  must  move  deliberately,  and  fol- 
low, rather  than  accompany,  a  speaker.  The  aged  hearer, 
who  has  little  intellectual  facility,  often  complains  of  the 
preacher's  rapidity  and  confusion  of  utterance.  Complaints 
such  as  this,  are  not  always  well  grounded  ;  and  the  waning 
faculties  of  age  are,  too  often,  in  these  cases,  the  chief  source 
of  apparent  feebleness  and  indistinctness  in  the  voice  of  the 
preacher.  No  speaker,  however,  who  addresses  a  mixed 
audience,  should  suffer  himself  to  fall  into  the  rapidity  of  ut- 
terance which  leaves  any  passage  unintelligible  to  any  indi- 
vidual among  his  hearers. 

Deliberateness  of  manner  is  not  only  an  indispensable  requi- 
site to  intelligible  address,  but  a  powerful  and  natural  aid  to 
impressive  utterance.  Without  a  moderate  rate  of  '  move- 
ment' in  the  voice,  there  can  be  no  association  of  grave  or 
grand  effect  on  the  ear:  the  style  of  utterance  is,  in  such  in- 
stances, unavoidably  rendered  light  and  trivial.  Solemnity, 
in  particular,  demands  the  utmost  slowness  of  utterance.  The 
uncultivated  reader  is  always  prone  to  celerity  of  enunciation, 


CHLTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. *  MOVEMENT.'  145 

and  thus  hinders  repose  and  reverence,  and  every  other  form 
of  deep  and  tranquil  impression.  A  style  like  this,  is  pecu- 
liarly ill-suited  to  the  purposes  of  reading  and  speaking,  as 
connected  with  the  duties  of  the  sacred  office. 

The  cultivated  reader  is  taught  to  appreciate  the  becoming- 
effect  and  moral  beauty  of  due  slowness,  as  an  attribute  of 
sacred  eloquence.  He  gives,  accordingly,  ample  scope  to^ 
sound,  lengthens  the  duration  of  every  prominent  vowel,  and' 
thus  makes  it  the  fit  vehicle  of  deep  and  full  emotion :  he- 
avoids  a  crowded  utterance  as  the  very  bane  of  serious  and' 
grave  feeling ;  he  cultivates  the  habit  of  moderation  in  the 
succession  of  sounds  ;  and  his  pauses  all  naturally  receive  a 
proportioned  length,  by  which  they  become  deeply  impressive 
to  tfte  ear.  These  traits  of  utterance  are  indispensable  to  the 
majesty  of  style  prevalent  in  all  the  sublime  descriptions  of 
the  Old  Testament,  and  are  required,  not  unfrequently,  in- 
the  New. 

But  while  taste  and  feeling  demand  due  slowness  in  utter- 
ing whatever  is  deeply  impressive  to  the  mind ;  they  forbid 
equally  all  lagging  and  drawling,  as  wholly  destructive  of  ev- 
ery good  effect, — as  only  irksome*  or  ridiculous, — bespeaking- 
a  feeble  temperament  and  habit,  and  an  utter  inability  to- 
create  any  deep  or  powerful  effect.  This  style,  however,  is 
proverbially  current  in  pulpit  elocution,  and  forms  one  of  the 
distinctive  and  prominent  features  of  its  mechanically  solemn 
and  exaggerated  manner.  The  discipline  of  elocution  dispels 
such  effects,  by  the  light  which  it  sheds  on  the  nature  of 
*  movement,'  as  an  element  of  vocal  effect;  and,  just  as  the- 
musician  obeys,  with  instinctive  readiness,  the  direction: 
which  accelerates  or  retards  his  voice,  with  the  most  definite- 
precision,  and  vivid  effect  on  the  ear,  so  does  the  instructed} 
reader  produce  the  characteristic  expression  of  every  senti- 
ment by  the  instantaneous  adaptation  of  his  rate  of  utterance 
to  the  spirit  of  the  language  which  falls  from  his  lips.  Truth, 
and  nature,  and  propriety,  preside,  thus,  over  his  whole  man- 
ner, and  render  it  living  and  eloquent. 
13 


146  PULPIT  ELOCUTION, 


*  Rhythm'  and  Pausing. 

The  discipline  of  the  voice  offers  to  the  public  speaker  a 
great  facility,  as  regards  the  proper  vocal  effect  required  for 
his  purposes,  in  the  regularity  of  *  rhythm,*  or  the  equable  suc- 
cession of  sound,  and  the  due  length  of  pauses.  '  Rhythm,'  as  a 
part  of  elocution,  enables  the  reader  to  maintain  an  equal  and 
symmetrical  flow  of  voice,  while  it  guards  him,  not  less  care- 
fully, against  a  mechanical  prominence  of  rhythmical  accent, 
which  is  attended  with  a  hammering  effect  on  the  ear. 

A  true  rhythm  has  been  demonstrated  by  Steele  to  consti- 
tute, as  distinctly,  a  trait  of  appropriate  reading  and  speaking, 
as  of  music.  It  serves,  in  the  former,  the  same  purposes  as 
in  the  latter  :  it  imparts  a  smooth,  agreeable,  and  symmeltical 
effect  to  the  voice :  it  prescribes  and  facilitates  a  regular  and 
easy  style  of  breathing :  it  enables  the  reader  or  speaker  to 
pronounce  the  successive  clauses  of  every  sentence  with  a 
regulated,  easy,  fluent  style  of  accent,  which  renders  the  effort 
of  full  utterance  comparatively  light,  promotes  the  tranquillity 
of  his  emotions,  saves  his  own  organic  strength,  and  gives 
forth  his  language  with  an'harmonious  and  pleasing  effect  to 
the  ear  of  others. 

The  uncultivated  reader  wastes  breath  and  strength,  and 
disturbs  his  utterance,  by  want  of  regularity  in  the  alternate 
successions  of  sound  and  pause.  His  whole  style  of  voice  is 
like  that  of  a  person  who,  in  singing,  pays  no  regard  to  *  time,' 
— the  very  foundation  of  music* 

Emphasis. 
Nothing,  perhaps,  displays  so  strikingly  the  benefit  of  sys- 
tematic practice  in  elocution,  as  the  force,  the  spirit,  and  the 
efficacy  which  it  imparts  to  emphasis.f     The  dull  routine  of 

*  For  exercises  in  '  rhythm,'  see  the  manual  on  Orthophony. 

t  Dr.  Rush  lias  justly  given  to  the  word  '  emphasis'  a  wider  application 
than  that  which  restricts  it  to  mere  comparative  farce.  He  comprehends 
under  it,  in  accordance  with  its  etymology,  all  the  phenomena  of  voice 
which  render  a  word  significant  or  impressive. 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. — EMPHASIS.  147 

school  reading,  in  its  customary  forms,  deadens  the  distinctive 
character  of  all  prominent  phrases,  and  reduces  all  the  words 
of  a  sentence  to  one  flat  monotonous  level,  in  which  there  are 
no  projecting  and  salient  points  to  arrest  the  attention ;  the 
voice  gliding  on  from  beginning  to  end  of  a  period,  as  if  every 
clause  were  of  exactly  equal  weight,  and  every  word  of  pre- 
cisely the  same  significance. 

The  influence  of  early  habit  is  so  strong  with  most  persons, 
that  few,  even  among  professional  readers,  seem  to  have  the 
power  of  throwing  into  a  significant  word,  or  an  expressive 
phrase,  that  force  which  an  energetic  and  distinctive  effect  of 
sense  or  emotion  demands.  A  proper  emphasis  adds  a 
heightened  colouring  of  passion,  or  gives  a  bolder  prominence 
of  meaning,  to  the  most  energetic  style,  and  is  capable  even  of 
concealing  the  deficiencies  of  expression  comparatively  tame. 
But  most  public  readers  have  accustomed  themselves  to  a  cer- 
tain medium  of  ordinary  effect  in  emphasis,  which  forbids  the 
possibility  of  their  imparting  weight,  or  significance,  or  vivid 
force  to  distinctive  expressions.  Hence  their  mode  of  reading 
is  so  far  from  lending  a  powerful  aid  to  written  composition, 
that  it  serves  rather  to  weaken  and  impair  it. 

The  actor  who  is  distinguished  in  his  art,  studies  his  em- 
phasis with  the  most  assiduous  attention,  and  uses  every  en- 
deavour which  professional  ambition  can  prompt,  or  profes- 
sional skill  can  suggest,  to  give  the  most  prominent  relief  and 
the  boldest  effect  to  emphatic  turns  of  expression.  He  will 
sometimes  devote  successive  hours  to  the  most  laborious  reite- 
ration of  vocal  effort,  to  give  life  and  pungency  to  a  single 
passage.  Nor  is  this  the  practice  of  mere  drudges  in  their 
vocation,  endeavouring  to  work  up  dull  conceptions  to  a  vivid 
effect :  it  was  the  daily  self-discipline  of  men  whose  expressive 
genius  the  world  has  always  acknowledged  and  admired. 

A  disciplined  voice  may  be  recognized  in  its  emphasis  as 
readily  as  in  any  other  point,  notwithstanding  the  current  no- 
tion that,  to  give  a  true  emphasis,  nothing  more  is  needed  than 
a  right  tmderstanding  of  the  language  which  requires  it. 
Force  and  skill  are,  in  this  as  in  all  other  things,  the  fruit  of 


148  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

practice.  The  violent  blow  of  the  angry  rustic  may  fall  with 
little  harm  to  him  at  whom  it  is  aimed :  the  skilful  one  of  the 
scientific  athlete,  tells  with  a  direct  and  concentrated  force, 
which  renders  it  as  effective  as  it  is  inevitable.  A  similar 
result  is  exhibited  in  the  use  of  the  voice,  when  the  practised 
reader  throws  into  the  emphasis  of  a  single  word  a  whole 
world  of  meaning,  condensed  into  one  energetic  sound  ;  while 
the  unskilful  voice,  with  its  vague  loudness  and  aimless  noise, 
fights  '  as  one  that  beateth  the  air.* 

The  study  of  elocution  not  only  prescribes  this  due  disci- 
pline of  the  voice  for  positive  force  of  emphasis,  but  for  that 
not  less  valuable  means  of  impressive  effect,  the  power  and 
the  habit  of  withholding  force,. in  anticipation  of  emphasis  or 
subsequently  to  its  occurrence,  so  as  to  give  it  the  due  relief 
arising  from  the  comparative  reduction  of  preceding  and  fol- 
lowing words.  In  this  mode  of  managing  the  voice  lies  the 
main  effect  of  expressive  and  distinctive  force.  The  unprac- 
tised reader  is  prone  to  follow  the  negligent  habit  of  conver- 
sational utterance,  which  throws  out  a  more  frequent  but  a 
feebler  emphasis  than  impressive  public  reading  demands. 
He  is  addicted,  perhaps,  to  those  habits  of  false  emphasis 
which  lead  him  to  give  unnecessary  prominence  to  insignifi- 
cant and  inexpressive  words,  and,  consequently,  to  mar  the 
whole  effect  of  what  emphasis  he  chiefly  intends.  He  forces 
into  emphatic  style  the  auxiharics  and  particles  of  a  sentence, 
to  the  utter  subversion  of  meaning  and  emotion.*  The  elo- 
cutionary training  of  the  voice  in  emphasis,  leads  to  the  ob- 
servance of  a  principle  directly  contrary  to  such  practice,  and 
accustoms  the  reader,  by  the  use  of  a  few  obvious  rules,  to 
reserve  his  force  for  the  prominent  points, of  meaning,  and 
always  to  husband  his  emphasis  so  as  to  make  it  tell. 

Another  very  important  effect  of  the  due  discipline  of  the 
voice,  as  to  emphasis,  is  the  security  which  it  gives  that  the 

*  The  ecstatic  joy  of  the  father,  at  the  return  of  the  prodigal  son,  is,  in 
this  style,  converted  from  a  hurst  of  grateful  and  glad  feeling,  into  the 
recitation  of  a  lesson  in  etymology ;  thus, '  For  this  my  son  was  lost,  and 
is  found !' 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  VOICE. — ^EXPRESSION.'  149 

student  shall  avoid  those  sharp  and  jagged  turns  of  voice 
which  indicate  a  species  of  nervous  fastidiousness  about  em- 
phasis. This  fault  was  described,  in  a  preceding  part  of  the 
present  work,  as  an  error  of  inflection,  as  well  as  emphasis, 
and  as  subverting  all  simplicity,  directness,  and  dignity  of  ut- 
terance. It  can  be  effectually  cured  in  no  way  but  by  the 
faithful  and  rigorous  analysis  of  intonation  and  expression, 
which  systematic  elocution  prescribes.  The  gradations  of  in- 
flection in  the  slides  and  waves  of  the  voice,  are  all  distinctly 
classified  and  illustrated  in  the  successive  steps  of  elocutionary 
training  in  this  department ;  and  to  the  practice  of  these,  as 
laid  down  in  the  manuals  before  mentioned,  the  student  who 
is  desirous  of  attaining  a  correct  and  genuine  emphasis,  is,  for 
the  present,  referred. 

*  Expression.^ 

The  discipline  of  the  voice  in  the  expression  of  feeling  and 
emotion,  is  a  part  of  elocution  which,  to  the  preacher,  is  of 
vast  moment.  The  imperfect  utterance  which  characterizes 
the  ordinary  style  of  reading  formed  at  school, — the  period 
when  habit  is  generally  fixed, — predisposes  even  the  clergy- 
man, in  the  pulpit,  to  an  inexpressive  mode  of  voice,  which 
belies  rather  than  manifests  whatever  emotion  may  exist  in 
his  soul.  The  voice  of  most  persons  in  adult  life  needs  a 
thorough  renovation  of  habit,  to  enable  it  to  utter  truly  the 
vivid  language  of  the  Scriptures,  of  sacred  poetry,  or  even  of 
expressive  prose.  The  unfriendly  influences  of  neglect  and 
perversion  of  vocal  habit,  in  early  years,  and  the  equally  un- 
favourable effect  of  a  conventional  coldness  of  utterance,  cur- 
rent in  society,  have  been  frequently,  in  our  preceding  re- 
marks, referred  to,  as  the  sources  of  prevalent  defects  in  read- 
ing and  speaking.  Elocution,  as  a  remedial  art,  offers  to  the 
student  the  means  and  the  methods  of  self-reformation  in  ex- 
pression. It  prescribes  an  extensive  and  varied  course  of 
practice  on  the  most  vivid  passages  of  the  most  effective  writ- 
13* 


150  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ers,  with  a  view  to  awaken  emotion,  and  keep  it  alive,  in  the 
exercise  of  reading.  The  materials  for  practice  it  draws 
largely  from  poetry,  as  the  natural  language  of  feeling,  and 
as  the  most  inspiring  source  of  impassioned  utterance.  To  the 
theological  student,  in  particular,  it  suggests  the  earnest  read- 
ing of  the  Scriptures, — the  most  vivid  and  the  most  poetic  of 
all  books, — as  one  of  the  most  influential  in  imparting  ex- 
pressive character  to  the  habits  of  the  voice.  The  reading  of 
sacred  poetry,  especially  in  the  lyric  form,  as  the  most  inspir- 
ing of  all,  it  prescribes  as  another  means  of  forming  vocal 
habit  to  a  true  and  living  style.  It  suggests,  also,  the  frequent 
practice  of  reading  essays,  lectures,  and  discourses  in  the  form 
of  sermons,  with  a  view  to  rendering  the  last  of  these  modes 
of  exercise  an  easy  and  natural  and  habitual  exertion,  instead 
of  leaving  it  to  prove  an  unattempted,  unfamiliar,  and  un- 
natural performance,  inducing  mechanical  and  artificial  man- 
ner, and  conscious  awkwardness  and  embarrassment. 

The  preparatory  discipline  of  elocution,  by  the  familiarity 
which  it  produces  with  the  genuine  style  of  true  reading,  brings 
this  exercise  to  an  identity  with  speaking,  in  its  manner  and 
effect,  and  imparts  to  the  varying  tones  of  emotion  a  distinct- 
ness and  a  force  of  character,  which  make  them  pass  with 
power  from  the  heart  of  the  reader  to  that  of  the  hearer.  It 
thus  takes  off  the  coldness  and  formality  of  the  conventional 
style  of  sermonizing,  and  substitut^fe  for  it  that  of  actual  per- 
Bonal  communication  between  man  and  man.  It  enjoins,  ac- 
cordingly, such  a  frequency  of  repetition  in  the  preparatory 
reading  of  a  discourse,  as  shall  stamp  the  substance  of  it  on 
the  mind,  and  enable  the  preacher  to  deliver  it  as  virtually  a 
spoken  address,  rather  than  the  school-boy  reading  of  a  pre- 
scribed task.  This  frequency  of  repetition,  in  previous  read- 
ing, it  requires,  farther,  to  such  an  extent  as  shall  leave  the 
preacher  free  to  direct  his  eye,  principally,  to  his  audience 
rather  than  his  paper ;  as  the  language  of  the  eye  is  nature's 
primary  effect  in  expression,  whether  as  the  means  of  secur- 
ing the  attention  and  sympathy  of  those  to  whom  a  discourse 


CULTIVATION  OP  THE  VOICE. — *  EXPRESSION.'  151 

is  addressed,  or  as  the  most  efficacious  mode  of  securing,  by 
reactive  effect  on  the  reader  himself,  the  tones  of  genuine 
personal  feeling  in  his  voice.* 

The  study  of  elocution  leads  to  a  thorough-going  analysis 
of  all  the  component  elements  of  expressive  effect  of  voice, 
and  to  an  intimate  knowledge  of  their  character.  It  provides 
an  extensive  course  of  practice  on  each  singly,  and,  also,  in 
their  combinations,  till  all  can  be  executed  with  unerring  pre- 
cision, fulness,  and  effect.  The  bad  results  of  cold  and  inex- 
pressive manner,  have  been  already  described  in  this  volume. 
On  these,  therefore,  it  is  unnecessary  at  present,  to  dwell. 
The  opposite  style,  of  false  excessive  warmth,  and  of  studied, 
artificial  variety  of  intonation,  has  also  been  described.  The 
analysis  which  practical  elocution  presents  of  all  the  con- 
stituents of  vocal  expression,  makes  familiar  to  the  student 
the  exact  character  and  value  of  each ;  so  that  he  is  secured 
against  the  tendency,  otherwise,  to  slight  or  exaggerate  any. 
He  becomes  accustomed,  accordingly,  to  observe  closely  the 
proper  effect  of  every  point  by  which  the  expression  of  emo- 
tion is  naturally  heightened  or  reduced  :  he  acquires  an  intu- 
itive readiness  and  exactness  of  judgment,  and  a  critical  re- 
finement of  taste,  which  guide  him  instinctively  to  the  vivid, 
full,  and  true  utterance  of  every  characteristic  tone  of  feeling. 
He  preserves,  thus,  the  quiet,  chaste,  unimpassioned,  didac- 
tic style  of  exposition  and  discussion,  in  the  essay,  the  lec- 
ture, and  the  doctrinal  discourse  ;  while,  in  the  treatment  of 
subjects  that  naturally  call  forth  intensity  of  feeHng,  his  utter- 
ance adapts  itself,  with  no  less  propriety  andi  certainty  of 
effect,  to  the  language  of  vivid  emotion.     His  voice  takes,  in 

*  Preachers,  if  they  would  observe  how  easy  it  is  for  an  audience  to 
hold  at  arm's  length  the  man  who  merely  reads  at  them,  (with  his  head 
down,  and  his  eye  on  his  manuscript,)  compared  to  the  man  who  speaks 
to  them,  (with  the  natural  eloquence  of  his  eye  directed  to  theirs,)  would 
understand  better  how  easy  it  is  to  listen  with  indifference  to  the  one,  and 
how  difficult  to  escape  from  the  influence  of  the  other.  Prudence  might, 
in  such  cases,  be  excused  for  whispering  the  half-worldly  suggestion  how 
easy  it  may  be,  in  given  circumstances,  to  '  dismiss'  the  one,  and  how  dif- 
ficult to  part  with  the  other. 


152  PtJLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

a  word,  the  hue  of  every  subject  over  which  it  passes,  and 
tinges  his  whole  utterance  with  the  colouring  of  the  heart. 
He  knows  how  to  restrain  expression,  and  how  to  give  it  free 
scope,  how  to  call  home  the  energy  of  the  voice,  and  how  to 
throw  it  out.  His  extensive  and  varied  discipline  on  expres- 
sive tone,  renders  it  easy  for  him  to  pass  from  the  level  and 
tranquil  moods  of  utterance  to  those  which  are  imbued  with 
passion.  His  tones,  therefore,  spring  directly  from  feeling, 
and  are  as  free  from  any  arbitrary  trait  as  they  are  from  mor- 
bid chill  and  reserve. 

The  diligent  student  of  elocution  recovers,  in  short,  that 
power  of  instantaneous  sympathy  and  of  vivid  expression, 
which  characterized  him  at  that  early  stage  of  life,  when  the 
freshness  and  fulness  of  his  tones  indicated  a  heart  unmodi- 
fied by  conventional  and  arbitrary  influence.  The  power 
which  he  has  thus  recovered,  his  mature  mind  and  reflective 
judgment  enable  him  to  apply  to  those  deeper  and  richer 
sources  of  thought,  which  his  intellectual  culture  has  opened 
up  to  him.  The  still  higher  sphere  of  thought  and  feeling  to 
which  the  preacher's  vocation  transfers  him,  he  enters  with  a 
preparatory  training,  which,  if  it  does  nothing  else,  frees  him, 
at  least,  from  the  embarrassing  consciousness  that  he  has  not 
acquitted  himself  fully  and  honourably,  as  far  as  human  abili- 
ties may  go,  to  a  part  of  the  peculiar  duties  which  are  to  be 
devolved  upon  him,  by  his  professional  relation. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES  EOR  THE  VOICE. 


The  following  exercises  are  designed  for  the  practical  ap- 
plication of  the  principles  discussed  in  the  foregoing  remarks  : 
they  consist,  accordingly,  of  examples  selected  with  reference 
to  those  parts  of  elocution  which  are  immediately  applicable 
to  the  training  of  the  voice  for  the  purposes  of  the  pulpit. 
To  students  who  had  already  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the 
general  principles  of  elocution,  from  the  manuals  formerly 
mentioned,  or  from  any  similar  source,  the  exercises  now 
presented  will  suit  the  purpose  of  special  application  to  pro- 
fessional uses  ;  and  to  persons  who  had  not  previously  made 
elocution  a  particular  study,  they  will  serve  as  a  partial  sub- 
stitute for  a  more  extended  course  of  elementary  discipline. 

ARTICULATION. 

The  Fundamental  Sounds  of  the  English  Language.^ 

'  Tonic'  Elements. 
[So  classed  by  Dr.  Rush,  from  their  susceptibility  of '  intonation.'] 
Simple. 
t^-11,  ^-rm,  ^-n,   Ai-v,  JS-rr,  jE-nd,  I-n,  JE-ve,  0-r,  0-n, 
Z7-p,  Oo-ze,  Tu-oo-k. 

*  The  inadvertency  of  attention,  or  the  ascendency  of  erroneous  habit, 
being  the  principal  causes  of  indistinct  enunciation,  the  rigorous  practice 
of  the  above  elements,  becomes,  even  to  professional  speakers,  a  useful 
exercise,  as  a  means  of  securing  attention  to  details. 

t  The  Italic  letters  contain  in  each  instance,  the  element  of  sound, 
which  is  the  object  of  direct  attention.  Each  element  should  be  repeated 
after  the  pronunciation  of  the  word  in  which  it  occms. 


154  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Compound. 
-4-le,  /-ce,  0-ld,  Ou-v,  Oi-\,  Use  (the  verb).* 

'  Sulitonics.' 
[So  denominated  by  Dr,  Rush,  because  of  their  inferior  susceptibility  of  intona- 
tion, when  compared  with  the  '  tonic'  elements.] 

L-u-U,  M-a[-7n,  JV-u-n,  i?-ap,  ra-r,t  Si-ng,  B-a-he,  D-i-d, 
G-a-ff,  V-Si\-ve,  Z-one,  A-z-ure,  T-e,  W-oe,  I'h-ine,  J-oj. 

v'  Atonies,' 
[So  called  from  their  deficiency  as  to  capacity  for  intonation.] 

P-l-pey  T-en-t,  C-a-ke,  F-i-fe,  0-esL-se,  Jl-e,  Th-in,  Tush. 

Combinations. 

|^/-ame,  (7/-aim,  i<^/-ame,  6?/-are,  Pl-ace,  Sl-aj,  Spl-aj, 
£r-ave,  Cr-Rve,  Z>r-a\n,  M^-ame,  Gr-am,  Pr-Rj,  Spr-ajj 
5"r-ace,  Str-Ry,  Shr-ine,  Sm-aW,  Sn-Rr\,  Sp-Rce,  St-Rj,  ~Bo-ld, 
E-//;  E-/^,  E-/m,  He-lp,  Fa-lls,  Yru-U,  E-Zre,  Mai-m'c?, 
Glea-ms,  A-nd,  GRi-ns,  Ba-nJc,  Da-nce,  A-nt,  'Ba-rb,  'Ba-rb'd, 
Ha-rc?,  Ha-r^,  Ma-r^'c?,  A-rm,  A-rm'c?,  Ea-rw,  Ea-rwW, 
Hea-rse,  Da-r$t,  Ba-r^,  Ma-rt,  Ca-rve,  Ca-rv'd,  Chasm, 
Rea-*'w,  Asp,  Yast,  Tass'd,  Ma-kes,  A-ct,  Wa-k'd,  Wa-/if, 
Qua^^'c?,  A-pt,  Su-pp'd,  0-p'n,  Ta-k'n,  Sa-dd'n,  Gra-v'w, 
Brigh-^'w,  Ca-^^s^,  A-rm'st,  Ca-nst,  Da-rst,  Mi-dst,  Hea-rd'st, 
A-rm'dst,  Ijea-m'dst,  A-ble,  Trou-bVd,  Am-ple,  To^-pVd, 
Qra-dle,  l^Yi-dVd,  M.a-rl,  Wo-rld,  B,i-ngs,  Ha-ng'st,  Wro-ng'd, 
Wro-ng'dst.^ 

The  elementary  sounds  and  combinations  contained  in  the 
preceding  tables,  should  be  repeated  till  they  can  be  enuncia- 

*  For  explanation  of  the  few  points  of  difference  in  arrangement,  be- 
tween the  above  table  and  that  of  Dr.  Kush,  see  statements  in  the  vol- 
ume on  Orthophony. 

t  The  five  elements  at  the  beginning  of  the  above  table,  may,  from 
their  comparative  approach  to  vocality,  be  termed  '  pure  subtonics.' 

J  The  combinations  of  elements  is,  in  every  case,  indicated  by  italics. 
Every  combination  should  be  repeated  separately,  after  pronouncing  the 
word  in  which  it  occurs. 

§  For  a  list  of  common  errors  in  articulation,  see  American  Elocu 
tionist. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — ^ARTICULATION.  155 

ted  with  perfect  exactness  and  well-defined  character,  in  the 
full  style  of  public  speaking. 

Distinctness  of  enunciation  will  be  much  pronaoted  by  a 
careful,  slow,  exact,  syllabic  and  literal  analysis  of  selected 
words,  read  with  special  precision  and  force,  for  the  purpose 
of  practising  a  clear,  firm,  well-marked  articulation.  This 
exercise  is  rendered  still  more  conducive  to  its  intended  effect, 
if  lines  or  sentences  are  read  in  inverted  order,  so  as  to  de- 
tach them  from  their  ordinary  associations  of  sound. 

A  useful  exercise  for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  critical 
knowledge  of  orthoepy,  and  a  strict  accuracy  of  habit  in  pro- 
nouncing, is  to  read  aloud  several  columns,  daily,  from  Wor- 
cester's edition  of  Johnson  and  Walker's  dictionaries,  as  com- 
bined by  Todd,  while  close  attention  is  paid  to  observe 
whether  the  sounds  of  the  voice  correspond  precisely  to  the 
notation  of  the  orthoepy. 

A  copious  list  of  words  commonly  mispronounced,  even  in 
the  pulpit,  formed  a  part  in  the  original  plan  of  the  present 
work.  But  the  extent  of  the  list  rendered  it  impracticable  to 
introduce  it  without  swelling  the  size  of  the  volume  beyond 
its  limited  extent.  It  may  be  sufficient,  perhaps,  to  refer 
here  to  the  tables  presented  in  the  Elocutionist,  as  a  specimen 
of  the  classes  of  words  which  are  most  liable  to  mispronunci- 
ation, and  as  an  indication  of  the  importance  of  the  exercise 
suggested  in  regard  to  the  use  of  the  dictionary. 

The  pulpit,  in  our  day,  and  in  this  country,  is  so  generally 
regarded  as  the  standard  of  accuracy  in  pronunciation,  that 
more  than  usual  attention  to  this  branch  of  elocution  is  justly- 
required  of  ministers.  But  some  young  preachers,  in  partic- 
ular, are  too  prone  to  shrink  from  their  proper  responsibleness 
as  scholars,  and  to  accommodate  their  own  style  to  mere  popu- 
lar usage,  while  others,  from  a  fastidious  anxiety  about  bare 
exactness,  adhere  to  the  letter  of  the  law  of  nicety,  and  even 
transcend  its  requirements.  Hence  we  hear,  in  some  Ameri- 
can pulpits,  the  pronunciations — airih,  vnaircj,  pmrfect,  from 
speakers  who  follow  literally  Walker's  notation  of  orthoe- 
py, but  do  not  pay  attention  to  his  own  qualification  of  it. 


156  I»tTLPIT  ELOCtJTlOJf. 

The  former  class  of  errors,  however, — that  which  arises  from 
accommodation  to  mere  negligent  common  usage, — is  the 
more  prevalent,  and  particularly  in  New  England.  Hence 
the  many  broad  and  obsolete  and  peculiar  sounds  which  char- 
acterize the  pulpit  pronunciation  of  this  region. 

It  would  seem  to  be  an  axiom  of  education,  that  in  an  ex- 
tensive country  like  the  United  States,  all  young  persons 
should  be  everywhere  trained  to  do  their  part  in  preserving 
the  unity  of  language  and  the  refinement  of  custom.  A  libe- 
ral education  should  enable  every  young  man  to  fill  with  pro- 
priety the  office  of  public  speaker,  in  any  part  of  his  native 
country.  But  the  fact  is  quite  otherwise.  Our  young  New 
England  clergy  usually  carry  with  them  their  marked  local 
peculiarities  of  usage  in  pronouncing,  and  throw  an  unneces- 
sary impediment  in  the  way  of  their  own  acceptation  as 
speakers  elsewhere.  A  few  months  or  years,  it  is  true,  usu- 
ally suffice  to  rub  off  such  points.  But  a  seasonable  attention 
would  prevent  their  existence. 

The  pulpit  orators  of  our  Middle  and  Western  States  are 
very  generally  chargeable  with  gross  negligence  and  impro- 
prieties in  pronunciation,  which  a  little  study  in  early  years 
would  have  sufficed  to  correct.  The  pulpit  cannot  command 
the  respect  of  any  but  the  illiterate,  while  it  tolerates  a  slov- 
enly inaccuracy  and  low  taste,  in  the  use  of  language,  or  in 
the  manner  of  pronouncing  the  most  ordinary  forms  of  ex- 
pression. The  minister,  as  an  educated,  or,  at  least,  a  read- 
ing man,  should  ever  feel  that  he  is  looked  to  as  a  model  in 
this  particular,  and  that  his  influence  in  this,  as  in  other  things, 
is  either  upward  or  downward. 


EXEKCISES  IN  '  QUALITY.' 

'Pure  Tone: 

This  quality  of  voice  belongs  to  moderate,  soft,  and  subdu- 
ed utterance,  as  in  the  expression  of  pathos,  repose  and  solem- 
nity, when  not  accompanied  by  grandeur  or  sublimity.     The 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — '  PURE  TONE.*  157 

object  in  view,  in  the  practice  of  such  passages  as  the  follow- 
ing, is,  to  secure  the  power  of  moulding  the  voice  into  per- 
fectly clear,  pure,  and  smooth  sound,  as  the  true  and  proper 
habit  of  utterance,  but  particularly  important  in  all  passages- 
of  tender  and  softened  effect.  This  mode  of  voice  characteri- 
zes the  appropriate  reading  of  some  of  the  Psalms,  many  of 
the  most  affecting  hymns,  and  all  the  subdued  appeals  of  di- 
rect address,  in  discourses  from  the  pulpit.  Pure  tone  is  o€ 
as  much  service  to  the  public  reader  and  speaker  as  to  the- 
singer.  It  renders  the  emission  of  vocal  sound  at  once  clear^ 
easy,  natural,  and  agreeable,  and  enables  the  performer  to* 
exert  his  organs  without  fatigue. 

The  following,  and  all  other  exercises,  should  be  repeated!, 
till  a  perfect  vocal  execution  is  attained.  To  secure  fully 
the  quality  in  view,  the  '  tonic'  elements  should  be  repeated! 
in  the  same  style.  The  ear  and  the  voice  will  thus  become; 
perfectly  attuned  to  the  effect. 

Pathos. 
Ode  to  Peace. — Cowper. 
*  Come,  peace  of  mind,  delightful  guest  !* 
Return,  and  make  thy  downy  nest. 

Once  more,  in  this  sad  heart ! 
Nor  riches  I  nor  power  pursue, 
Nor  hold  forbidden  joys  in  view  : 
We  therefore  need  not  part. 

'  Where  wilt  thou  dwell,  if  not  with  me,. 
From  avarice  and  ambition  free. 

And  pleasure's  fatal  wiles  ? — 
For  whom,  alas  !  dost  thou  prepare 
The  sweets  that  I  was  wont  to  share, 

The  banquet  of  thy  smiles  ? 

'  The  great,  the  gay,  shall  they  partake 
The  heaven  that  thou  alone  canst  make  ? 
And  wilt  thou  quit  the  stream 
14 


158  PTTLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

That  murmurs  through  the  dewy  mead, 
The  grove  and  the  sequestered  shed, 
To  be  a  guest  with  them  ? 

*  For  thee  I  panted ;  thee  I  prized ; 
For  thee  I  gladly  sacrificed 

•Whatever  I  loved  before  ; — 
And  shall  I  see  thee  start  away, 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  hear  thee  say — 

*'  Farewell ! — we  meet  no  more  ?"  ' 

Repose. 
Invocation  to  Evening. — Cowper. 

*  Come,  Evening,  once  again,  season  of  peace  ; 
Return,  sweet  Evening,  and  continue  long ! 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streaky  west, 

With  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train ;  one  hand  employed 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
On  bird  and  beast,  the  other,  charged  for  man 
With  sweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day  : 
Not  sumptuously  adorned,  nor  needing  aid, 
Like  homely-featured  Night,  of  clustering  gems  ; 
A  star  or  two,  just  twinkling  on  thy  brow. 
Suffices  thee  ;  save  that  the  moon  is  thine 
Not  less  than  hers,  not  worn,  indeed,  on  high, 
With  ostentatious  pageantry,  but  set 
With  modest  grandeur  in  thy  purple  zone, 
Resplendent  less,  but  of  an  ampler  round. — 
Come,  then  ;  and  thou  shalt  find  thy  votary  calm, 
Or  make  me  so.     Composure  is  thy  gift.* 

Placid  Emotion.* 
Books . — Addison. 
'  AristQtle  tells  us,  that  the  world  is  a  copy,  or  transcript, 


*  Conversational  passages,  essays,  lectures,  and  discourses,  when  read 
in  the  study  or  the  parlour,  the  conference  or  the  lecture-room,  may,  par- 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. 'PURE  TONE.'  159 

of  those  ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  the  First  Being,  and 
that  those  ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  man,  are  a  trans- 
cript of  the  world.  To  this  we  may  add,  that  words  are  the 
transcript  of  those  ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  man,  and 
that  writing  or  printing  is  the  transcript  of  words.  As  the 
Supreme  Being  has  expressed,  and,  as  it  were,  printed  his 
ideas  in  the  creation,  men  express  their  ideas  in  books,  which, 
by  this  great  invention  of  these  latter  ages,  may  last  as  long 
as  the  sun  and  moon,  and  perish  only  in  the  general  wreck 
of  nature. 

*  There  is  no  other  method  of  fixing  those  thoughts  which 
arise  and  disappear  in  the  mind  of  man,  and  transmitting 
them  to  the  last  periods  of  time  ;  no  other  method  of  giving 
a  permanency  to  our  ideas,  and  preserving  the  knowledge  of 
any  particular  person,  when  his  body  is  mixed  with  the  com- 
mon mass  of  matter,  and  his  soul  retired  into  the  world  of 
spirits.  Books  are  the  legacies  that  a  great  genius  leaves  to 
mankind,  which  are  delivered  down  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration, as  presents  to  the  posterity  of  those  who  are  yet  un- 
born. 

*  All  other  arts  of  perpetuating  our  ideas,  continue  but  a 
short  time.  Statues  can  last  but  a  few  thousands  of  years, 
edifices  fewer,  and  colours  still  fewer  than  edifices.  Michael 
Angelo,  Fontana,  and  Raffaelle,  will,  hereafter,  be  what  Phi- 
dias, Vitruvius,  and  Appelles,  are  at  present ;  the  names  of 
great  statuaries,  architects,  and  painters,  whose  works  are  lost. 
The  several  arts  are  expressed  in  mouldering  materials.  Na- 
ture sinks  under  them,  and  is  not  able  to  support  the  ideas 
which  are  impressed  upon  it.- 

*  The  circumstance  which  gives  authors  an  advantage 
above  all  these  great  masters,  is  this,  that  they  can  multiply 
their  originals,  or,  rather,  can  make  copies  of  their  works,  to 
what  number  they  please,  which  shall  be  as  valuable  as  the 

ticularly  when  composed  in  moderate  and  unimpassioned  style,  be  prop- 
erly read  in  merely  pure  tone.  But  the  public  reading  of  the  same 
may,  from  the  larger  demands  of  space,  and,  consequently,  the  fuller  tone 
of  voice,  be  carried  to  the  extent  of  moderate  orotund  utterance. 


160  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

originals  themselves.  This  gives  a  great  author  a  prospect 
of  something  like  eternity. — If  writings  are  thus  durable,  and 
may  pass  from  age  to  age,  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
time,  how  careful  should  an  author  be  of  committing  anything 
to  print,  that  may  corrupt  posterity,  and  poison  the  minds  of 
men  with  vice  and  error !' 

Solemnity.' 
Funeral  Hymn. 
*  How  still  and  peaceful  is  the  grave, 
Where, — life's  vain  tumults  past, — 
The  appointed  house,  by  Heaven's  decree, 
Receives  us  all  at  last ! 

The  wicked  there  from  troubling  cease, — 

Their  passions  rage  no  more  ; 
And  there  the  weary  pilgrim  rests 

From  all  the  toils  he  bore. 

All,  levelled  by  the  hand  of  death, 

Lie  sleeping  in  the  tomb 
Till  God  in  judgment  call  them  forth 

To  meet  their  final  doom. 

*  Orotund  Quality.^* 

This  mode  of  voice  is  characterized  by  peculiar  roundness, 
fulness,  and  resonance,  combining  the  '  purity'  of  the  *  head 
tone'  with  the  reverberation  of  the  chest.  It  has  a  deeper  ef- 
fect than  mere  purity  of  tone,  and  usually  ranges  with  the  hass 
notes  of  the  male  voice ;  while  the  head  tone  has  a  lighter 
character,  and  seldom  extends  below  the  tenor  level.     Oro- 

*  The  term  '  orotund'  Dr.  Rusli  has  adopted  from  a  modification  of 
the  Latin  phrase  '  ore  rotundo.^  The  word,  as  was  mentioned  before,  is  a 
good  technical  designation  in  elocution ;  as  it  not  only  intimates  the  pecu- 
liar rotundity  of  the  proper  voice  for  public  speaking,  but  the  special  con- 
dition of  the  interior  and  back  parts  of  the  mouth,  which  its  production 
requires.    See  Orthophony. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — '  OROTUND  QUALITY.'         161 

tund  quality  is  the  natural  mode  of  utterance  in  all  deep,  pow- 
erfid,  and  sublime  emotions.  It  belongs,  accordingly,  to  ora- 
tory, and  to  the  holder  forms  of  poetry. 

Orotund  utterance  is,  like  pure  tone,  a  most  effective  aid 
to  easy  and  full  voice.  It  serves  to  diminish  the  fatigue  of 
vocal  exertion,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  give  out  clear  and 
agreeable  sound :  it  renders  the  utmost  force  of  energetic  ut- 
terance easily  practicable ;  and,  by  throwing  vigour  into  the 
voice,  it  spares  the  lungs. 

The  remarks  on  frequency  of  practice  in  pure  tone,  apply 
also  to  orotund  quality.  Every  exercise  should  be  perfectly 
mastered  before  proceeding  to  another;  and  the  practice 
should  not  cease  till  all  the  '  tonic  elements'  can  be  easily  and 
exactly  executed  in  orotund  style. 

•  Pathos*  and  Sublimity. 

Rorae. — ^Byron. 

*  O  Rome !   my  country !   city  of  the  soul ! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires !   and  control 
In  their  shut  breasts,  their  petty  misery. 

What  are  our  woes  and  sufferance  ? — Come  and  see 
The  cypress,  hear  the  owl,  and  plod  your  way 
O'er  steps  of  broken  thrones  and  temples,  Ye ! 
"Whose  agonies  are  evils  of  a  day : — 
A  world  is  at  our  feet  as  fragile  as  our  clay. 

*  The  Niobe  of  nations  \   there  slie  stands, 
Childless  and  crownless,  in  her  voiceless  woe ; 
An  empty  urn  within  her  withered  hands. 
Whose  holy  dust  was  scattered  long  ago ; — 
The  Scipios'  tomb  contains  no  ashes  now ; 
The  very  sepulchres  lie  tenantless 

"*  PatJws,  repose,  and  solemnity/,  if  united  with  grandeur,  assume  the  oro- 
tund voice,  although,  without  this  union,  they  do  not  transcend  the  com- 
paratively moderate  limits  of  pure  tone.  The  orotund  is  the  distinctive 
quality  of  grandeur  and  power. 

14* 


162  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Of  their  heroic  dwellers  : — dost  thou  flow, 
Old  Tiber !    through  a  marble  wilderness  ? 
Rise,  with  thy  yellow  waves,  and  mantle  her  distress !' 

Repose,  Solemnity,  and  Sublimity. 
Evening . — Milton. 
*  Now  came  still  evening  on  ;   and  twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad ; 
Silence  accompanied ;   for  beast  and  bird. 
They  to  their  grassy  couch, — these  to  their  nests 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale ; — 
She,  all  night  long,  her  amorous  descant  sung : 
Silence  was  pleased.    Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires.     Hesperus  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest  till  the  moon, 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length 
Apparent  queen  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw.' 

Solemnity,  Sublimity,  and  Pathos. 
The  Treasures  of  the  Deep. — ^Mrs.  Hemans. 
<  What  hid'st  thou  in  thy  treasure-caves  and  cells, 
Thou  hollow-sounding  and  mysterious  Main  ? — 
Pale  glistening  pearls,  and  rain-bow  coloured  shells, 
Bright  things  which  gleam  unrecked  of,  and  in  vain. — 
■  Keep,  keep  thy  riches,  melancholy  Sea ! 
We  ask  not  such  from  thee. 

*  Yet  more,  the  depths  have  more  ! — "VMiat  wealth  untold 
Far  down,  and  shining  through  their  stillness  lies  ! 
Thou  hast  the  starry  gems,  the  burning  gold. 

Won  from  ten  thousand  royal  argosies. — 
Sweep  o'er  thy  spoils,  thou  wild  and  wrathful  main ; 
Earth  claims  not  these  again. 

*  Yet  more,  the  depths  have  more ! — Thy  waves  have  rolled 
Above  the  cities  of  a  world  gone  by ! 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  OROTUND  QUALITY.'         163 

Sand  hath  filled  up  the  palaces  of  old, 
Sea-weed  o'ergrown  the  halls  of  revelry  ! — 
Dash  o'er  them,  Ocean,  in  thy  scornful  play : 
Man  yields  them  to  decay. 

*  Yet  more,  the  billows  and  the  depths  have  more : 
High  hearts  and  brave  are  gathered  to  thy  breast. 
They  hear  not  now  the  booming  waters  roar ; 
The  battle  thunders  will  not  break  their  rest. — 
Keep  thy  red  gold  and  gems,  thou  stormy  grave  : — 

Give  back  the  true  and  brave ! 

*  Give  back  the  lost  and  lovely !   those  for  whom 
The  place  was  kept  at  board  and  hearth  so  long. 

The  prayer  went  up,  through  midnight's  breathless  gloom, 
And  the  vain  yearnings  woke  'mid  festal  song ! — 
Hold  fast  thy  buried  isles,  thy  towers  o'erthrown, — 
But  all  is  not  thine  own ! 

*  To  thee  the  love  of  woman  hath  gone  down : 
Dark  flow  thy  tides  o'er  manhood's  noble  head, 

O'er  youth's  bright  locks,  and  beauty's  flowery  crown, — 
Yet  must  thou  hear  a  voice, — "  Restore  the  dead !" — 
Earth  shall  reclaim  her  precious  things  from  thee, — 
"  Restore  the  dead,  thou  Sea !" 

Energy  and  Sublimity. 

Hallowed  Ground. — Campbell. 

'  What's  hallowed  ground  ? — Has  earth  a  clod 
Its  Maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God, — 

Erect  and  free, — 
Unscourged  by  Superstition's  rod 
To  bow  the  knee  ? 

'  That's  hallowed  ground,  where,  mourned  and  missed, 
The  lips  repose  our  love  has  kissed  ; 
But  where's  their  memory's  mansion  ? — Is't 


164  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Yon  churchyard's  bowers  ? 
No :  in  ourselves  their  souls  exist, — a  part  of  ours' 

'  What  hallows  ground  where  heroes  sleep  ? — 
'Tis  not  the  sculptured  piles  you  heap  ; — 
In  dews  that  heavens  far  distant  weep 

Their  turf  may  bloom, 
Or  genii  twine  beneath  the  deep 

Their  coral  tomb. 

*  But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind 

Whose  sword  or  voice  has  served  mankind, — 
And  is  he  dead,  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine,  on  high  ? 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind, 

Is  not  to  die. 

*  Is't  death  to  fall  for  Freedom's  right  ? — 
He's  dead  alone,  that  lacks  her  light, 
And  murder  sullies,  in  Heaven's  sight, 

The  sword  he  draws. 
What  can  alone  ennoble  fight  ? — 
A  noble  cause ! 

*  Give  that !    and  welcome  War  to  brace 

Her  drums,  and  rend  heaven's  reeking  space : — 
The  colours  planted  face  to  face. 

The  charging  cheer, — 
Though  death's  pale  horse  lead  on  the  chase, — 

Shall  still  be  dear ; — 

*  And  place  our  trophies  where  men  kneel 

To  Heaven  ! — But  Heaven  rebukes  my  zeal. — 
The  cause  of  Truth  and  Human  Weal, 

O  God  above! 
Transfer  it  from  the  sword's  appeal 

To  Pea^e  and  Love ! 

*  Peace,  Love ! — the  cherubim  that  twine 
Their  spread  wings  o'er  Devotion's  shrine, — 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  OROTUND  QUALITY.*    165 

Prayers  sound,  in  vain,  and  temples  shine, 

Where  they  are  not. — 
The  heart  alone  can  make  divine 

Religion's  spot.' 

Joy  and  Sublimity. 
Prophetic  Anticipations. — Cowper. 
O  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplished  bliss ;  which  who  can  see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refreshed  with  foretaste  of  the  joy  ? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth. 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty :  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  field 
Laughs  with  abundance ;  and  the  land,  once  lean, 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace. 
Exults  to  see  its  thirsty  curse  repealed. 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one, 
And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring : 
The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence ; 
For  there  is  none  to  covet, — all  are  full. 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear. 
Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks ;  all  bask  at  noon 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 
Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream. 
Antipathies  are  none.     No  foe  to  man 
Lurks  in  the  serpent  now :  the  mother  sees, 
And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant's  playful  hand 
Stretched  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  worm. 
To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 
The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place : 
That  creeping  pestilence  is  driven  away ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  has  chased  it.     In  the  heart 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string ; 


166  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not :  the  pure  and  uncontaminated  blood 
Holds  its  due  course,  nor  fears  the  frost  of  age. 
One  song  employs  all  nations  ;  and  all  cry, 
"  "Worthy  the  Lamb  !   for  he  was  slain  for  us." 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 
Shout  to  each  other;  and  the  mountain  tops 
From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy ; 
Till, — nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, — 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  hosanna  round.' 


Awe  and  Sublimity. 
The  Final  Judgment. — Horsley. 

*  Grod  hath  warned  us, — and  let  them,  who  dare  to  extenu- 
ate the  warning,  ponder  the  dreadful  curse  with  which  the 
Book  of  Prophecy  is  sealed, — "  If  any  man  shall  take  away 
from  the  words  of  the  book  of  this  prophecy  ;  God  shall  take 
away  his  part  out  of  the  book  of  life  :" — God  hath  warned  us, 
that  the  inquiry  into  every  man's  conduct  will  be  public; — 
Christ  himself  the  Judge, — the  whole  race  of  man,  and  the 
whole  angelic  host,  spectators  of  the  awful  scene. 

*  Before  that  assembly,  every  man's  good  deeds  will  be  de- 
clared, and  his  most  secret  sins  disclosed.  As  no  elevation 
of  rank  will  then  give  a  title  to  respect,  no  obscurity  of  condi- 
tion shall  exclude  the  just  from  public  honour,  or  screen  the 
guilty  from  public  shame.  Opulence  will  find  itself  no  lon- 
ger powerful ; — poverty  will  be  no  longer  weak  ; — birth  will 
no  longer  be  distinguished; — meanness  will  no  longer  pass 
unnoticed.  The  rich  and  poor  will  indeed  strangely  meet  to- 
gether ;  when  all  the  inequalities  of  the  present  life  shall  dis- 
appear, and  the  conqueror  and  his  captive, — the  monarch  and 
his  subject, — the  lord  and  his  vassal, — the  statesman  and  the 
peasant, — the  philosopher  and  the  unlettered  hind, — shall  find 
their  distinctions  to  have  been  mere  illusions.  The  charac- 
ters and  actions  of  the  greatest  and  the  meanest  have  in  truth 
been  equally  important,  and  equally  public ;  while  the  eye  of 


ELEMENTAKT  EXERCISES.— FORCE.  167 

the  omniscient  God  has  been  equally  upon  them  all, — while 
all  are  at  last  equally  brought  to  answer  to  their  common 
Judge,  and  the  angels  stand  around  spectators,  equally  inter- 
ested in  the  dooms  of  all. 

*  The  sentence  of  every  man  will  be  pronounced  by  him 
who  cannot  be  merciful  to  those  who  shall  have  willingly  sold 
themselves  to  that  abject  bondage  from  which  he  died  to  pur- 
chase their  redemption, — who,  nevertheless,  having  felt  the 
power  of  temptation,  knows  to  pity  them  that  have  been 
tempted ;  by  him  on  whose  mercy  contrite  frailty  may  rely, — 
whose  anger  hardened  impenitence  must  dread. 

'  To  heighten  the  solemnity  and  terror  of  the  business,  the 
Judge  will  visibly  descend  from  heaven, — the  shout  of  the 
archangels  and  the  trumpet  of  the  Lord  will  thunder  through 
the  deep, — the  dead  will  awake, — the  glorified  saints  will  be 
caught  up  to  meet  the  Lord  in  the  air ;  while  the  wicked  will 
in  vain  call  upon  the  mountains  and  the  rocks  to  cover  them. 

'  Of  the  day  and  hour  when  these  things  shall  be,  knoweth 
no  man ;  but  the  day  and  hour  for  these  things  are  fixed  in 
the  eternal  Father's  counsels.  Our  Lord  will  come, — he  will 
come  unlooked  for,  and  may  come  sooner  than  we  think.' 


EXERCISES  IN  FORCE. 

The  thorough  discipline  of  the  voice,  for  the  purposes  of 
public  speaking,  extends  from  whispering  to  shouting, — not 
with  a  view,  in  the  case  of  these  extremes,  to  the  actual  use 
of  them,  in  the  exercise  of  reading,  but  for  the  purpose  of 
reaching  the  natural  limits  of  capability,  and  securing  a  per- 
fect command  over  every  degree  of  force,  whether  for  acquir- 
ing organic  power,  and  pliancy  of  voice,  or  ensuring  command 
of  expression  as  dependent  on  any  degree  of  loudness. 

The  following  exercises,  and  the  elements,  of  all  three 
classes,  tonic,  subtonic,  and  atonic,  should  be  repeated  sever- 
al times,  daily,  for  months,  till  their  effect  is  fully  felt  in 
strengthening  and  compacting  the  sounds  of  the  voice,  and 
rendering  the  production  of  any  degree  of  force  an  easy  and 


168  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

agreeable  exercise.  Diligent  cultivation  in  this  department 
of  elocution,  for  even  a  few  weeks,  will  impart  a  stentorian 
power  of  vocal  effort  to  persons  whose  volume  of  voice  was 
previously  insufficient,  and  whose  degree  of  organic  vigour, 
as  well  as  their  expressive  power,  in  actual  utterance,  was 
very  low. 

Suppressed  Force.  (Whisper  and  half  whisper.)* 
Awe  and  Tenderness. 
Evening  Prayer  at  a  Girls*  School. — Mrs.  Hemans. 
<  Hush !  'tis  a  holy  hour  : — the  quiet  room 

Seems  like  a  temple,  while  yon  soft  lamp  sheds 
A  faint  and  starry  radiance,  through  the  gloom 

And  the  sweet  stillness,  down  on  young  bright  heads, 
With  all  their  clustering  locks,  untouched  by  care, 
And  bowed, — as  flowers  are  bowed  with  night, — in  prayer. 
*  Gaze  on,  'tis  lovely  ! — childhood's  lip  and  cheek, 
Mantling  beneath  its  earnest  brow  of  thought. 
Gaze — yet  what  seest  thou  in  those  fair  and  meek 

And  fragile  things,  as  but  for  sunshine  wrought? — 
Thou  seest  what  grief  must  nurture  for  the  sky. 
What  death  must  fashion  for  eternity !' 

Subdued  Force.  (Softened  Utterance :  '  Pure  Tone.') 
Pathos. 
The  Death  of  Reynolds. — J.  Montgomery. 
*  Behold  the  bed  of  death, — 
This  pale  and  lovely  clay  ! 
Heard  ye  the  sob  of  parting  breath  ? 
Marked  ye  the  eye's  last  ray  ? 
No ; — life  so  sweetly  ceased  to  be, 
It  lapsed  in  immortality. 

=*  All  passages  of  deep  aive,  require  a  degree  of  suppression,  and  hence 
of '  aspiration,'  or  breathing  effect,  which  always  produces  more  or  less 
impurity  of  tone,  in  consequence  of  the  restraining  effect  of  awe  upon 
the  organs,  and  the  unavoidable  escape  of  unvocalized  breath,  along  with 
the  sound  of  the  voice. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — FORCE.  169 

*  Could  tears  revive  the  dead, 
Rivers  should  swell  our  eyes  ; 
Could  sighs  recall  the  spirit  fled, 

We  would  not  quench  our  sighs, 
Till  love  relumed  this  altered  mien. 
And  all  the  imbodied  soul  were  seen. 

*  Bury  the  dead ; — and  weep 

In  stillness  o'er  the  loss ; 
Bury  the  dead ; — *[in  Christ  they  sleep, 

Who  bore  on  earth  his  cross ; 
And  from  the  grave  their  dust  shall  rise, 
In  his  own  image  to  the  skies.'] 

Moderate  Ihrce.'f 

Serenity.     [Exemplified  in  Verse.] 

Scene  after  a  Tempest. — Bryant. 

*  It  was  a  scene  of  peace ; — and  like  a  spell, 

Did  that  serene  and  golden  sunlight  fall  -^ 

Upon  the  motionless  wood  that  clothed  the  fell 

And  precipice  upspringing  like  a  wall, 

And  glassy  river  and  white  waterfall. 
And  happy  living  things  that  trod  the  bright 

And  beauteous  scene  ;  while  far  beyond  them  all, 
On  many  a  lovely  valley,  out  of  sight,  [lights 

Was  poured  from  the  blue  heavens  the  same  soft  golden 

*  I  looked,  and  thought  the  quiet  of  the  scene 

An  emblem  of  the  peace  that  yet  shall  be. 
When,  o'er  earth's  continents  and  isles  between, 

The  noise  of  war  shall  cease  from  sea  to  sea. 

And  married  nations  dwell  in  harmony  ; 
When  millions  crouching  in  the  dust  to  one, 

No  more  shall  beg  their  lives  on  bended  knee, 


*  The  lines  within  brackets  exemplify  a  change  of  expression  from  the 
subdued  voice  of  pathos  to  the  moderate  and  cheerful  tones  of  serenity  and 
hope. 

t  The  usual  degree  of  force  in  the  unimpassioned  style  of  sentiment. 
15  ] 


170  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Nor  the  black  stake  be  dressed,  nor  in  the  sun 

The  o'erlaboured  captive  toil,  and  wish  his  life  were  done. 

*  Too  long,  at  clash  of  arms,  amid  her  bowers. 

And  pools  of  blood,  the  earth  has  stood  aghast, — 
The  fair  earth  that  should  only  blush  with  flowers 

And  ruddy  fruits  ;  but  not  for  aye  can  last 
The  storm, — and  sweet  the  sunshine  when  'tis  past. 
Lo  !   the  clouds  roll  away  ;  they  break, — they  fly  ; 

And,  like  the  glorious  light  of  summer,  cast 
O'er  the  wide  landscape  from  the  embracing  sky. 
On  all  the  peaceful  world  the  smile  of  heaven  shall  lie.' 

Serenity.   [Exemplified  in  Prose.]* 
Good  Intendon. — Addison. 

*  If  we  apply  a  good  intention  to  all  our  actions,  we  make 
our  very  existence  one  continued  act  of  obedience,  we  turn 
even  our  diversions  and  amusements  to  our  eternal  advantage, 
and  are  pleasing  Him  whom  we  are  made  to  please,  in  all  the 
circumstances  and  occurrences  of  life. 

t'  It  is  this  excellent  frame  of  mind,  this  holy  officiousness, 
(if  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  it  such,)  which  is  recommended 
to  us  by  the  apostle,  in  that  uncommon  precept  wherein  he 
directs  us  to  propose  to  ourselves  the  glory  of  our  Creator,  in 
att  our  most  indifferent  actions,  "  whether  we  eat,  or  drink, 
or  whatsoever  we  do." 

J'  A  person  who  is  possessed  with  an  habitual  good  inten- 

*  The  usual  style  of  essays,  lectures,  expository  and  practical  dis- 
courses, and  other  forms  of  didactic  address. 

t  The  ordinary  rule  of  elocution  prescribes  a  diminishivg  of  the  force 
of  the  voice  at  the  opening  of  a  new  paragraph.  But  when,  as  in  the  text, 
there  is  a  vivid  turn  of  thought  introduced,  the  opposite  rule  prevails,  and 
the  force  increases  with  the  momentum  of  the  additional  mental  impulse. 

X  The  usual  rule  of  slackening  the  tension  of  voice  at  the  opening 
of  a  new  paragraph,  is  exemplified  here  ;  as,  in  such  cases,  the  train  of 
thought  is  either  resumed,  or  commenced  anew.  The  force,  therefore,  is 
progressive  in  the  sentence.  All  well  composed  sentences  are  naturally 
read  with  the  growing  force  of  climax.  The  same  remark  applies  to  para- 
graphs and  larger  portions  of  a  discourse. 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. — FORCE.  171 

tlon,  enters  upon  no  single  circumstance  of  life,  without  con- 
sidering it  as  well  pleasing  to  the  great  Author  of  his  being, 
conformable  to  the  dictates  of  reason,  suitable  to  human  na- 
ture in  general,  or  to  that  particular  station  in  which  Provi- 
dence has  placed  him.  He  lives  in  the  perpetual  sense  of  the 
Divine  presence,  regards  himself  as  acting,  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  existence,  under  the  observation  and  inspection 
of  that  Being  who  is  privy  to  all  his  emotions  and  all  his 
thoughts,  who  knows  his  "  downsitting  and  his  uprising,  who 
is  about  his  path  and  about  his  bed,  and  spieth  out  all  his 
ways."  In  a  word,  he  remembers  that  the  eye  of  his  Judge 
is  always  upon  him ;  and,  in  every  action,  he  reflects  that  he 
is  doing  what  is  commanded  or  allowed  by  Him  who  will 
hereafter  either  reward  or  punish  it.  This  was  the  character 
of  those  holy  men  of  old,  who,  in  the  beautiful  phrase  of  Scrip- 
ture, are  said  to  have  "  walked  with  God." ' 

Declamatory  Force,* 

Energetic  Emotion. 
The  Slave  jTmJe.— Webster. 
*  I  deem  it  my  duty,  on  this  occasion,  to  suggest,  that  the 
land  is  not  yet  wholly  free  from  the  contamination  of  a  traffic 
at  which  every  feeling  of  humanity  must  revolt, — I  mean  the 
African  slave  trade.  Neither  public  sentiment  nor  the  law 
has  yet  been  able  entirely  to  put  an  end  to  this  odious  and 
abominable  traffic.  At  the  moment  when  God,  in  his  mercy, 
has  blessed  the  world  with  a  universal  peace,  there  is  reason 
to  fear,  that,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  Christian  name  and  charac- 
ter, new  effi:)rts  are  making  for  the  extension  of  this  trade, 
by  subjects  and  citizens  of  Christian  States,  in  whose  hearts 
no  sentiment  of  justice  inhabits,  and  over  whom  neither  the 
fear  of  God  nor  the  fear  of  man  exercises  a  control.     In  the 

'*  The  word  *  declamatory'  is  used,  in  elocution,  as  the  designation  of 
the  full,  bold  style  of  oratory,  in  warm  and  forcible  address.  The  sense 
thus  attached  to  the  word,  it  will  be  perceived,  is  special  and  technical, 
merely,  and  implies  no  imputation  on  the  character  of  the  sentiment  or 
the  language,  as  in  the  rhetorical  and  popular  uses  of  the  term. 


172  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

sight  of  our  law,  the  African  slave  trader  is  a  pirate  and  a 
felon  ;  and  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  an  offender  far  beyond  the 
ordinary  depth  of  human  guilt.  There  is  no  brighter  part  of 
our  history,  than  that  which  records  the  measures  which  have 
been  adopted  by  the  government,  at  an  early  day,  and  at  dif- 
ferent times  since,  for  the  suppression  of  this  traffic  ;  and  I 
would  call  upon  all  the  true  sons  of  New  England,  to  co- 
operate with  the  laws  of  man  and  the  justice  of  Heaven. 

'  If  there  be,  within  the  extent  of  our  knowledge  or  influ- 
ence, any  participation  in  this  traffic,  let  us  pledge  ourselves 
here,  upon  the  Rock  of  Plymouth,  to  extirpate  and  destroy  it. 
It  is  not  fit  that  the  land  of  the  pilgrims  should  bear  the  shame 
longer.  I  hear  the  sound  of  the  hammer — I  see  the  smoke 
of  the  furnaces  where  manacles  and  fetters  are  still  forged  for 
human  limbs.  I  see  the  visages  of  those  who,  by  stealth, 
and  at  midnight,  labour  in  this  work  of  hell,  foul  and  dark,  as 
may  become  the  artificers  of  such  instruments  of  misery  and 
torture.  Let  that  spot  be  purified,  or  let  it  cease  to  be  of 
New  England.  Let  it  be  purified,  or  let  it  be  set  aside  from 
the  Christian  world ;  let  it  be  put  out  of  the  circle  of  human 
sympathies  and  human  regards ;  and  let  civilized  man  hence- 
forth have  no  communion  with  it. 

*  I  would  invoke  those  who  fill  the  seats  of  justice,  and  all 
who  minister  at  her  altar,  that  they  execute  the  wholesome 
and  necessary  severity  of  the  law.  I  invoke  the  ministers  of 
our  religion,  that  they  proclaim  its  denunciation  of  these 
crimes,  and  add  its  solemn  sanctions,  to  the  authority  of  hu- 
man law.  If  the  pulpit  be  silent,  whenever  or  wherever  there 
may  be  a  sinner,  bloody  with  this  guilt,  within  the  hearing  of 
its  voice,  the  pulpit  is  false  to  its  trust.' 

Impassioned  Force.'* 

Imprecation. 

Falierd's  Dying  Curse  on  Venice. — Byron. 

*  Ye  elements  !   in  which  to  be  resolved 
I  hasten,  let  my  voice  be  as  a  spirit 

*  The  style  in  which  utterance  becomes  intense,  an    greatly  trans- 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. FORCE.  173 

Upon  you  ! — Ye  blue  waves !  which  bore  my  banner, — 
Ye  winds  !  which  fluttered  o'er  as  if  ye  loved  it, 
And  filled  my  swelling  sails,  as  they  were  wafted 
To  many  a  triumph !   Thou,  my  native  earth. 
Which  I  have  bled  for !  and  thou  foreign  earth, 
Which  drank  this  willing  blood  from  many  a  wound ! 
Ye  stones,  in  which  my  gore  will  not  sink,  but 
Reek  up  to  heaven  !   Ye  skies,  which  will  receive  it ! 
-  Thou  sun  !  which  shinest  on  these  things,  and  Thou ! 
Who  kindlest  and  who  quenchest  suns  ! — attest  I 
I  am  not  innocent — ^but  are  these  guiltless  ? 
I  perish,  but  not  unavenged  :  far  ages 
Float  up  from  the  abyss  of  time  to  be. 
And  show  these  eyes,  before  they  close,  the  doom 
Of  this  proud  city ;  and  I  leave  my  curse 
On  her  and  hers  forever. 

*  Then,  in  the  last  gasp  of  thine  agony, 
Amidst  thy  many  murders,  think  of  mine  I 
Thou  den  of  drunkards  with  the  blood  of  princes  ! 
Gehenna  of  the  waters  !  thou  sea  Sodom  ! 
Thus  I  devote  thee  to  the  infernal  gods  ! 

Thee  and  thy  serpent  seed  I' 

Shouting.* 
Exultation. 
The  Exclamations  of  Tell.,  on  his  Escape. — Knowles. 
*■  Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I'm  with  you  once  again ! 
I  hold  to  you  the  hands  you  first  beheld, 
To  show  they  still  are  free ! 

cends  even  the  usual  energy  or  vehemence  of  declamation.  This  de- 
gree of  force  is,  generally  speaking,  restricted  to  poetry,  or  to  prose  of  the 
highest  character  as  to  emotion. 

*  This  form  of  voice,  although  seldom  exemplified  in  actual  oratory, 
unless  in  vehement  address  in  the  open  air,  is  of  immense  value,  as  an 
exercise  for  invigorating  the  organs  and  strengthening  the  voice,  in  oro- 
tund quality.    Its  effects,  when  practised  a  few  times  daily,  for  even  a  few 

15* 


174  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  Ye  guards  of  liberty, 
I'm  with  you  once  again  ! — I  call  to  you 
"With  all  my  voice  ! — I  hold  my  hands  to  you, 
To  show  they  still  are  free !' 

Calling.* 

[As  in  the  case  of  the  greatest  distance  between  the  speaker  and  the  hearers.  ] 
Command. 
The  Herald's  Message. — Shakspeare. 
^  Rejoice  ye  men  of  Anglers !   Ring  your  bells  ! 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way  !' 


EXERCISES  IN  '  STRESS.' 

*  Stress'  may  be  briefly  defined  as  the  term  used  in  elocu- 
tion to  designate  the  mode  and  the  place  of  forming  the 
maximum  of  force  in  a  single  sound.  Thus,  in  the  appropri- 
ate utterance  of  some  emotions,  the  force  of  the  voice  bursts 
out  suddenly,  with  a  percussive  explosion  ;  as  in  angry  com- 
mand, in  which  vocal  sound  is  intended  to  vent  the  passion 
of  the  speaker,  and  to  startle  and  terrify  the  hearer.  An 
example  occurs  in  the  burst  of  fierceness  and  wrath  with 
which  Death  replies  to  Satan  :  ^Bach  to  thy  punishment,  false 
fugitive !'  We  may  contrast  with  this  form  of  stress  the  gen- 
tle swell  of  reverence  and  adoration^  in  the  devotional  language 
of  Adam  and  Eve  in  their  morning  hymn,  in  paradise :  '  Hail! 
universal  Lord  !'  The  utterance  of  the  word  '  Bach,'  in  the 
former  instance,   exemplifies   'explosive'  'radical'   (initial) 

weeks,  are  such  as  to  impart  great  volume  and  power  of  utterance  to 
persons  wlio  commence  the  exercise  with  weak  organs  and  imperfect 
tone. 

*  The  effect  of  this  exercise  is  to  give  compactness,  and  clearness,  and 
purity  of  tone,  to  the  utmost  extent  of  voice.  The  call,  although  rising 
to  a  high  note,  with  great  loudness,  should  always  be  kept  perfectly  vocal 
or  musical  in  its  sound,  resembling  the  easy,  smooth  effect  of  the  loudest 
singing,  in  its  gradual  and  skilful  swell.  It  is  nothing  else  than  the 
maximum  of  ^pure^  or  ^head  tone.' 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — 'STRESS.*  175 

'  stress/  which  bursts  out,  with  percussive  abruptness,  on  the 
initial  or  first  part  of  the  sound  ;  that  of  the  word  '  Hail,'  in 
the  latter,  '  median,'  (middle,)  as  gently  swelling  out  to  its 
maximum  on  the  middle  of  the  sound,  whence  it  diminishes  to 
the  end  or  '  vanish.'  Another  mode  of  stress, — termed  '  van- 
ishing,'— witholds  the  abrupt  explosion  till  the  last  particle 
(so  to  speak,)  of  the  impassioned  sound,  and  then  throws  it 
out  with  a  wrenching  and  jerking  violence  on  the  very  *  van- 
ish,' or  last  audible  point  of  voice.  This  form  of  stress  oc- 
curs in  the  tones  of  ungovernable  impatience,  deep,  determined 
will,  and  excessive  or  inconsolable  grief.  Of  the  first  of  these 
emotions  we  have  an  example  in  the  mad  impatience  of 
Queen  Constance,  when  protesting  against  the  peace  between 
France  and  England,  which  was  to  sacrifice  the  rights  of  her 
son.  '  War !  war ! — no  peace  !  Peace  is  to  me  a  war !'  Of 
the  second  we  have  an  instance  in  the  reply  of  the  Swiss 
deputy  to  Charles  the  Bold,  when  he  is  announcing  to  the 
Duke  the  final  determination  of  the  cantons  to  resist,  to  the 
last,  the  invasion  of  their  rights.  '  Sooner  than  submit  we 
will  starve  in  the  icy  wastes  of  the  glaciers  !'  Of  the  third, 
in  the  Psalmist's  exclamation,  *  My  Grod  !  my  Grod !  why  hast 
thou  forsaken  me  ?' 

A  fourth  mode  of  stress  unites  the  *  radical  and  the  van- 
ishing' on  the  same  syllable,  by  an  abrupt  jerk  of  force  on  the 
Jirst  and  last  portions  of  the  impassioned  sound.  This  is  the 
natural  expression  of  astotiishme?it,  and  is  displayed  with  pe- 
culiar vividness,  when  the  speaker  reiterates  the  words  of 
another  person.  An  example  occurs  in  the  exclamation  of 
Queen  Constance,  when  she  hears,  for  the  first  time,  of  the 
conditions  of  the  peace  between  France  and  England,  and  re- 
peats the  words  of  the  messenger.  '  Gone  to  be  married  f — 
gone  to  swear  a  peace  /' 

A  fifth  form  of  stress, — peculiar  to  intense  emotions, — 
throws  out  the  voice,  with  the  utmost  force,  on  all  the  points 
of  a  sound  which  admit  of  being  rendered  conspicuous  or 
prominent, — the  beginning  the  middle  and  the  end.  This 
mode  of  utterance  in  emphatic  syllables,  is,  from  its  pervading 


175  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

effect,  termed  *  thorough'  stress.  It  is  exemplified  in  the 
shout  of  defiance,  with  which  Fitz-James  addresses  the  band 
of  Roderic  Dhu, 

'  Come  one,  come  all !    This  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I.'* 


Impassioned '  Radical  Stress.* 

Bold,  angry,  and  threatening  Command. 
[Abrupt,  explosive  style  of  utterance.] 
Satari's  Address  to  Death. — Milton. 
*  Whence,  and  what  art  thou  ?  execrable  shape  ! 
That  dar'st,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  mj  way 
To  yonder  gates  ?     Through  them  I  mean  to  pass, 
That  be  assured, — without  leave  asked  of  thee. 
Retire,  or  taste  thy  folly,  and  learn  by  proof. 
Hell-born  !  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  heaven !' 

Courageous  Sentiment  and  Eloquent  Address. 

[Energetic  expulsive  style.]t 

Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adams. — Webster. 

*  Read  the  declaration  of  our  independence  at  the  head  of 
the  array, — every  sword  will  be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and 
the  solemn  vow  uttered,  to  maintain  it,  or  to  perish  on  the 
bed  of  honour.  Publish  it  from  the  pulpit, — religion  will  ap- 
prove it ;  and  the  love  of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round 
it,  resolved  to  stand  with  it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the 
public  halls, — proclaim  it  there, — ^let  them  hear  it,  who  heard 
the  first  roar  of  the  enemy's  cannon, — let  them  see  it,  who 
saw  their  brothers  and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker 
Hill,  and  in  the  streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord ; — and  the 
very  walls  will  cry  out  in  its  support !' 

*  The  explanations  and  examples  given  in  the  text,  will,  it  is  thought, 
serve  to  render  the  requisite  distinctions  plain.  But  fuller  statements 
may  be  referred  to  in  Dr.  Rush's  Philosophy  of  the  Voice,  or  in  the  man- 
ual of  Orthophony. 

t  A  vivid  initial  force,  without  abruptness  or  violence. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  STRESS.'  177 


JJnimpassioned '  Radical  StressJ* 
Earnestness  and  elevation  of  Thought. 
The  Progress  of  Discovery. — Everett. 
*  Are  the  properties  of  matter  all  discovered  ? — its  laws  all 
found  out  ? — the  uses  to  which  they  may  be  applied,  all  de- 
tected ?  I  cannot  believe  it. — The  progress  which  has  been 
made  in  art  and  science,  is,  indeed,  vast.  We  are  ready  to 
think  that  a  pause  must  follow,  that  the  goal  must  be  at  hand. 
But  there  is  no  goal,  and  there  can  be  no  pause ;  for  art  and 
science  are  in  themselves  progressive.  They  are  moving 
powers,  animated  principles  :  they  are  instinct  with  life  ;  they 
are  themselves  the  intellectual  life  of  man.  Nothing  can  ar- 
rest them,  which  does  not  plunge  the  entire  order  of  society 
into  barbarism.  There  is  no  end  to  truth,  no  bound  to  its 
discovery  and  application,  and  a  man  might  as  well  think  to 
build  a  tower,  from  the  top  of  which  he  could  grasp  Sirius  in 
his  hand,  as  prescribe  a  limit  to  discovery  and  invention.* 

^Median  Stress.* 
Solemnity  and  Reverence. 
Adoration  offered  by  the  Angels. — Milton. 
*  Thee,  Father,  first  they  sung,  omnipotent, 
Immutable,  immortal,  infinite. 
Eternal  King  ;  thee.  Author  of  all  being, 
Fountain  of  light,  thyself  invisible 
Amidst  the  glorious  brightness  where  thou  sitt'st, 
Throned  inaccessible,  but  when  thou  shad'st 
The  full  blaze  of  thy  beams,  and  through  a  cloud, 
Drawn  round  about  thee,  like  a  radiant  shrine. 


*  This  style,  though  utterly  free  from  impassioned  vehemence,  pre- 
serves the  abrupt  explosive  opening  of  sound,  to  the  extent  required  by 
distinct  articulation,  for  vivid  intellectual  impression.  The  effect  to  the 
ear  is  like  that,  comparatively,  of  the  clear  tinkle  of  the  falling  icicle,  or 
of  the  drop  of  rain, — a  moderate,  but  remarkably  clear  sound. 


178  '  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Dark  with  excessive  bright,  thy  skirts  appear, 
Yet  dazzle  heaven,  that  brightest  seraphim 
Approach  not,  but  with  both  wings  veil  their  eyes/ 


Pathos. 
Extract  from  Psalm  CIII. 
V.  13.  *  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him.  14.  For  he  knoweth  our  frame  ; 
he  remembereth  that  we  are  dust.  15.  As  for  man,  his  days 
are  as  grass:  as  a  flower  of  the  field  so  he  flourisheth. 
16.  For  the  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  it  is  gone  j  and  the 
place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more.' 

Tranquillity. 
Psalm  XXIII. 
V.  1.  *  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd :  I  shall  not  want.  2.  He 
maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures  :  he  leadeth  me  be- 
side the  still  waters.  3.  He  restoreth  my  soul ;  he  leadeth  me 
in  the  paths  of  righteousness,  for  his  name's  sake.  4.  Yea, 
though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil :  for  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff 
they  comfort  me.  5.  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the 
presence  of  mine  enemies :  thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil ; 
my  cup  runneth  over.  6.  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall 
follow  me,  all  the  days  of  my  life ;  and  I  will  dwell  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  forever.* 

*  Vanishing  Stress.' 

Complaint. 

Job's  Reply  to  his  Friends. — Job  XIX. 

V.  2.  *  How  long  will  ye  vex  my  soul,  and  break  me  in 

pieces  with  words  ?     3.  These  ten  times  have  ye  reproached 

me :  ye  are  not  ashamed  that  ye  make  yourselves  strange  to 

me. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  STRESS.*  179 

6.  *  Know,  now,  that  God  hath  overthrown  me,  and  hath 
compassed  me  with  his  net.  7.  Behold,  I  cry  out  of  wrong, 
but  I  am  not  heard :  I  cry  aloud,  but  there  is  no  judgment. 
8.  He  hath  fenced  up  my  way  that  I  cannot  pass,  and  he  hath 
set  darkness  in  my  paths.  9.  He  hath  stripped  me  of  my 
glory,  and  taken  the  crown  from  my  head.  10.  He  hath  de- 
stroyed me,  on  every  side,  and  I  am  gone ;  and  my  hope  hath 
he  removed  like  a  tree.' 

Denunciation. 
Extract  from  Isaiah  XXXIV. 
V.  5.  *  My  sword  shall  be  bathed  in  heaven :  behold,  it 
shall  come  down  upon  Idumea,  and  upon  the  people  of  my 
curse  to  judgment.  9.  And  the  streams  thereof  shall  be 
turned  into  pitch,  and  the  dust  thereof  into  brimstone,  and  the 
land  thereof  shall  become  burning  pitch.  10.  It  shall  not  be 
quenched  night  nor  day ;  the  smoke  thereof  shall  go  up  for 
ever :  from  generation  to  generation  it  shall  be  waste ;  none 
shall  pass  through  it  for  ever  and  ever.' 

^  Compound  Stress.' 
Interrogation. 

Extract  from  Job  XLI. 
V.  1.  *  Canst  thou  draw  out  leviathan  with  a  hook?  or  his 
tongue  with  a  cord  which  thou  lettest  down  ?  2.  Canst  thou 
put  a  hook  into  his  nose  ?  or  bore  his  jaw  through  with  a 
thorn?  3.  Will  he  make  many  supplications  unto  thee? 
will  he  speak  soft  words  unto  thee  ?  4.  Will  he  make  a  cove- 
nant with  thee  ?  wilt  thou  take  him  for  a  servant  for  ever  ? 
5.  Wilt  thou  play  with  him  as  with  a  bird  ?  or  wilt  thou  bind 
him  for  thy  maidens  ?' 

Extracts  from  I.  Corinthians  XII.  Chapter. 
y.  15.  If  the  foot  shall  say.  Because  I  am  not  the  hand,  I 
I  am  not  of  the  body  ;  is  it  therefore  not  of  the  body  ?   1 6.  And 


180  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

if  the  ear  shall  say,  Because  I  am  not  the  eye,  I  am  not  of  the 
body ;  is  it  therefore  not  of  the  body  ? 

29.  <  Are  all  apostles  ?  are  all  prophets  ?  are  all  teachers  ? 
are  all  workers  of  miracles  ?  30.  Have  all  the  gifts  of  heal- 
ing ?   do  all  speak  with  tongues  ?  do  all  interpret  ?' 

*  Thorough  Stress* 

Vehement  Denunciation. 
Extract  from  Isaiah  XXYIIl. 
V.  1.  *  Wo  to  the  crown  of  pride,  to  the  drunkards  of  Eph- 
raim,  whose  glorious  beauty  is  a  fading  flower,  which  are  on 
the  head  of  the  fat  valleys  of  them  that  are  overcome  with 
wine  !  2.  Behold,  the  Lord  hath  a  mighty  and  strong  one, 
which,  as  a  tempest  of  hail  and  a  destroying  storm,  as  a  flood 
of  mighty  waters  overflowing,  shall  cast  down  to  the  earth 
with  the  hand.  3.  The  crown  of  pride,  the  drunkards  of 
Ephraim,  shall  be  trodden  under  feet.' 

Joyous  Command. 
Extract  from  Isaiah  LII. 
V.  1.  *  Awake,  awake,  put  on  thy  strength,  O  Zion  ;  put 
on  thy  beautiful  garments,  O  Jerusalem,  the  holy  city :  for 
henceforth  there  shall  no  more  come  into  thee  the  uncircum- 
cised  and  the  unclean.  2.  Shake  thyself  from  the  dust ;  arise, 
and  sit  down,  O  Jerusalem :  loose  thyself  from  the  bands  of 
thy  neck,  O  captive  daughter  of  Zion.' 

Indignant  Rebuke. 
Extract  from  Isaiah  I. 
V.  10.  *  Hear  the  word  of  the  Lord,  ye  rulers  of  Sodom : 
give  ear  unto  the  law  of  our  God,  ye  people  of  Gomorrah. 
11.  To  what  purpose  is  the  multitude  of  your  sacrifices  unto 
me  ?  saith  the  Lord :  I  am  full  of  the  burnt-offerings  of  rams, 
and  the  fat  of  fed  beasts ;  and  I  delight  not  in  the  blood  of 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  STRESS.'  181 

bullocks,  or  of  lambs,  or  of  he-goats.  12.  When  ye  come  to 
appear  before  me,,  who  hath  required  this  at  your  hand,  to 
tread  my  courts?  13.  Bring  no  more  vain  oblations:  in- 
cense is  an  abomination  unto  me ;  the  new-moons  and  sab-- 
baths,  the  calling  of  assemblies,  I  cannot  away  with ;  it  is 
iniquity,  even  the  solemn  meeting.  14.  Your  new-moons^ 
and  your  appointed  feasts  my  soul  hateth  :  they  are  a  trouble' 
unto  me;  I  am  weary  to  bear  them.  15.  And  when  ye 
spread  forth  your  hands,  I  will  hide  mine  eyes  from  you; 
yea,  when  ye  make  many  prayers,  I  will  not  hear:  your- 
hands  are  full  of  blood.' 

Courage  and  Energy. 
Stanzas  of  a  Jwrtatory  Hymn. 

*  Awake,  my  soul ! — stretch  every  nerve, 

And  press  with  vigour  on  : 
A  heavenly  race  demands  thy  zeal, 
A  bright,  immortal  crown. 

*  'Tis  God's  all-animating  voice 

That  calls  thee  from  on  high ; 
'Tis  his  own  hand  presents  the  prize 
To  thine  aspiring  eye.' 

EXERCISES  IN  PITCH. 

Middle  Pitch* 

Emotion  progressive  from  Seriousness  to  Cheerfulness  and  Animation^ 

Hope. — Addison. 

*  No  life  is  so  happy  as  that  which  is  full  of  hope,  especially 

when  the  hope  is  well-grounded,  and  when  the  object  of  it  i» 

of  an  exalted  kind,  and  in  its  nature  proper  to  make  the  per- 

*  The  average  level  of  the  voice  in  public  reading  or  speaking, — in  the 
form  of  lectures,  practical  and  doctrinal  discourses,  and  unimpassioned 
address, — a  pitch  somewhat  lower  than  the  middle  notes  of  conversation  j 
as  the  former  implies  graver  tone. 
16 


182  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

son  happy,  who  enjoys  it.  This  proposition  must  be  self-evi- 
dent to  those  who  consider  how  few  are  the  present  enjoy- 
ments of  the  most  happy  man,  and  how  insufficient  to  give 
him  an  entire  satisfaction  and  acquiescence  in  them. 

*'  My  next  observation  is  this  ;  that  a  religious  life  is  that 
which  most  abounds  in  a  well-grounded  hope,  and  such  a 
one  as  is  fixed  on  objects  that  are  capable  of  making  us  en- 
tirely happy.  This  hope,  in  a  rehgious  man,  is  much  more 
sure  and  certain  than  the  hope  of  any  temporal  blessing ;  as 
it  is  strengthened  not  only  by  reason  but  by  faith.     It  has,  at 

*  The  new  pitch  with  which  every  new  paragraph  properly  com- 
mences, is  a  point  of  the  greatest  moment  in  elocution,  as  deciding  the 
natural  and  appropriate  style  of  reading,  and  distinguishing  it  from  that 
which  is  mechanical  and  unimpi'essive.  True  reading  causes  the  para- 
graphs of  a  piece,  and  the  heads  of  a  discourse,  to  indicate  the  change 
which  is  taking  place  in  the  current  and  direction  of  the  thought.  Every 
new  topic,  subordinate,  as  well  as  pi-incipal,  requires  a  new  shade  of 
voice,  in  pitch,  as  higher  or  lower  than  the  average  tone  of  the  preceding 
paragi-aph.  The  same  remark  applies  to  single  sentences.  The  com- 
mon fault,  derived  from  school  habits,  is  to  rise  to  a  new  and  higher 
pitch,  at  the  beginning  of  every  sentence  or  paragraph,  and  gradually 
fall  in  the  successive  clauses  or  sentences.  Correct  reading  varies  the 
pitch  according  to  the  connection  existing  between  sentences,  and  com- 
mences on  the  low  note  of  the  cadence  of  the  preceding  sentence  or  par- 
agraph, when  the  sense  is  continuous  or  analogous,  but  rises  to  a  new 
and  a  higher  strain,  only  when  there  is  a  new,  a  distinct,  or  an  opposite 
thought  in  the  new  sentence  or  paragraph.  On  the  other  hand,  a  new 
sentence  or  paragraph,  opening  with  a  graver  mood  of  sentiment,  begins, 
properly,  with  a  lower  pitch  than,  perhaps,  even  the  cadence  of  the  pre- 
ceding context. 

The  opening  of  a  new  paragraph  should,  generally,  be  lower  in  pitch 
than  the  strain  of  utterance  in  the  preceding  part  of  a  discourse.  But 
when,  as  in  the  example  to  which  the  present  note  refers,  the  speaker  in- 
timates, in  the  beginning  of  a  paragraph,  the  plan  or  order  of  his  dis- 
course, the  voice  is  higher  in  pitch,  as  well  as  slacker  in  force  ;  so  as  to 
keep  the  main  subject  of  address  distinct  from  the  parenthetical  allu- 
sions to  the  speaker's  train  of  thought  for  the  time.  The  practical  rule 
of  elocution,  for  the  commencing  pitch  of  paragraphs  is,  usually.  Begin 
anew ;  1.  e.  Slacken  the  force,  lower  the  pitch,  and  retard  the  rate  of  the 
voice.  This  rule  is  founded  on  the  obvious  principle  that  it  is  not  till 
progress  has  been  made  in  a  sentence  or  paragraph,  that  the  new  impulse 
of  thought  is  felt  in  the  fprce,  pitch,  and  movement  of  the  voice. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. PITCH.  188 

the  same  time,  its  eye  perpetually  fixed  on  that  state  which 
implies,  in  the  very  notion  of  it,  the  most  full  and  the  most 
complete  happiness. 

**  Religious  hope  does  not  only  bear  up  the  mind,  under 
sufferings,  but  makes  her  rejoice  in  them,  as  they  may  be  the 
instruments  of  procuring  her  the  great  and  ultimate  end  of  all 
her  hope.  Religious  hope  has  likewise  this  advantage  above 
any  other  kind  of  hope,  that  it  is  able  to  revive  the  dying 
man,  and  to  fill  his  mind  not  only  with  comfort,  but  with  rap- 
ture and  transport.  He  triumphs  in  his  agonies,  while  the 
soul  springs  forward  with  delight  to  the  great  object  which 
she  has  always  had  in  view,  and  leaves  the  body  with  an  ex- 
pectation of  being  re-united  to  it  in  a  glorious  and  joyful  res- 
urrection.* 

Low  Pitch. 

Grave  Emotion. 
Man  is  horn  to  Trouble. — Finlajson. 
*  That  no  man  can  promise  to  himself  perpetual  exemp- 
tion from  suffering,  is  a  truth  obvious  to  daily  observation. 
Nay,  amid  the  shiftings  of  the  scene  in  which  we  are  placed, 
who  can  say  that,  for  one  hour,  his  happiness  is  secure  ?  The 
openings  through  which  we  may  be  assailed,  are  so  numerous 
and  unguarded,  that  the  very  next  moment  may  see  some 
message  of  pain  piercing  the  bulwarks  of  our  peace.  Our- 
body  may  become  the  seat  of  incurable  disease.  Our  mind 
may  become  a  prey  to  unaccountable  and  imaginary  fears. 
Our  fortune  may  sink  in  some  of  those  revolutionary  tem- 
pests which  overwhelm  so  often  the  treasures  of  the  wealthy. 
Our  honours  may  wither  on  our  brow,  blasted  by  the  slander- 
ous breath  of  an  enemy.  Our  friends  may  prove  faithless  in 
the  hour  of  need,  or  they  may  be  separated  from  us  for  ever. 
Our  children,  the  fondest  hope  of  our  hearts,  may  be  torn 
from  us  in  their  prime ;  or  they  may  wound  us  still  more 
deeply  by  their  undutifulness  and  misconduct. 

*  An  example  of  the  usual  lower  pitch  of  a  new  paragraph. 


184  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  Alas  !  my  brother  of  the  dust,  in  this  uncertainty  of  world- 
ly blessings,  where  is  the  joy  on  earth,  in  which  thou  canst 
repose  thy  confidence?  or  what  defence  canst  thou  rear 
against  the  inroads  of  adversity  ?  Dost  thou  hope  that  by 
rising  to  power,  or  by  increasing  thy  goods,  thou  wilt  insure 
the  continuance  of  thy  comfort  ?  Vain  man  !  hast  thou  not 
seen  that  the  loftiest  mountain  meets  first  the  lightnings  of 
the  sky,  and  that  the  spreading  tree,  when  loaded  with  the 
glories  of  its  foliage  and  fruit,  is  most  easily  broken  by  the  fu- 
ry of  the  blast  ?  In  this  manner,  the  children  of  this  world, 
by  multiplying  their  stores  and  extending  their  connections, 
furnish  a  broader  mark  to  the  arrows  of  misfortune,  and  with 
the  greater  certainty  suffer  disappointment  and  sorrow.' 

Sublime  Emotion. 
The  "Works  and  Attributes  of  God. — Moodie. 

*  All  vast  and  unmeasurable  objects  are  fitted  to  impress 
the  soul  with  awe.  The  mountain  which  rises  above  the 
neighbouring  hills,  and  hides  its  head  in  the  sky, — the  sound- 
ing, unfathomed,  boundless  deep, — the  expanse  of  Heaven, 
where,  above  and  around,  no  limit  checks  the  wondering  eye  ; 
— these  objects  fill  and  elevate  the  mind, — they  produce  a  sol- 
emn frame  of  spirit,  which  accords  with  the  sentiment  of  re- 
ligion. 

From  the  contemplation  of  what  is  great  and  magnificent 
in  nature,  the  soul  rises  to  the  Author  of  all.  We  think  of 
the  time  which  preceded  the  birth  of  the  universe,  when  no 
being  existed  but  God  alone.  While  unnumbered  systems 
arise  in  order  before  us,  created  by  his  power,  arranged  by 
his  wisdom,  and  filled  with  his  presence, — the  earth  and  the 
sea,  with  all  that  they  contain,  are  hardly  beheld  amidst  the 
immensity  of  his  works.  In  the  boundless  subject  the  soul  is 
lost.  It  is  he  who  "  sitteth  on  the  circle  of  the  earth,  and  the 
inhabitants  thereof  are  as  grasshoppers.  He  weigheth  the 
mountains  in  scales.  He  taketh  up  the  isles  as  a  very  little 
thing."     "  Lord,  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him !" 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — ^PITCH.  185 

*  The  face  of  nature  is  sometimes  clothed  with  terror.  The 
tempest  overturns  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  or  discloses  the  se- 
crets of  the  deep.  The  pestilence  wastes, — the  lightning 
consumes, — the  voice  of  the  thunder  is  heard  on  high.  Let 
these  appearances  be  connected  with  the  power  of  God. 
These  are  the  awful  ministers  of  his  kingdom.  "  The  Lord 
reigneth,  let  the  people  tremble.  Who  would  not  fear  thee, 
O  King  of  nations !  By  the  greatness  of  thy  power  thine 
enemies  are  constrained  to  bow."  * 

Pathetic  Emotion. 
Autumnal  Meditation  instructive  to  the  Aged. — ^Alison, 

*  There  is  an  eventide  in  human  life,  a  season  when  the  eye 
becomes  dim,  and  the  strength  decays,  and  when  the  winter 
of  age  begins  to  shed  upon  the  human  head  its  prophetic 
snow.  It  is  the  season  of  life  to  which  autumn  is  most  anal- 
ogous ;  and  much  it  becomes,  and  much  it  would  profit  you, 
to  mark  the  instructions  which  the  season  brings.  The 
spring  and  the  summer  of  your  days  are  gone,  and  with  them, 
not  only  the  joys  they  knew,  but  many  of  the  friends  who 
gave  them.  You  have  entered  upon  the  autumn  of  your  be- 
ing ;  and  whatever  may  have  been  the  profusion  of  your 
spring,  or  the  warm  intemperance  of  your  summer,  there  is 
yet  a  season  of  stillness  and  of  solitude,  which  the  beneficence 
of  Heaven  affords  you,  in  which  you  may  meditate  upon  the 
past  and  the  future,  and  prepare  yourselves  for  the  mighty 
change  which  you  are  soon  to  undergo. 

*  If  it  be  thus  you  have  the  wisdom  to  use  the  decaying 
season  of  nature,  it  brings  with  it  consolations  more  valuable 
than  all  the  enjoyments  of  former  days.  In  the  long  retro- 
spect of  your  journey,  you  have  seen  every  day  the  shades  of 
the  evening  fall,  and  every  year  the  clouds  of  winter  gather. 
But  you  have  seen  also,  every  succeeding  day,  the  morning 
arise  in  its  brightness,  and  in  every  succeeding  year,  the 
spring  return  to  renovate  the  winter  of  nature.  It  is  now  you 
may  understand  the   magnificent  language  of  Heaven,-— it 

16* 


186  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

mingles  its  voice  with  that  of  revelation, — it  summons  you, 
in  these  hours  when  the  leaves  fall,  and  the  winter  is  gather- 
ing, to  that  evening  study  which  the  mercy  of  Heaven  has 
provided  in  the  book  of  salvation  ;  and  while  the  shadowy 
valley  opens  which  leads  to  the  abode  of  death,  it  speaks  of 
that  Hand  which  can  comfort  and  can  save,  and  which  can 
conduct  to  those  "  green  pastures,  and  those  still  waters," 
where  there  is  an  eternal  spring  for  the  children  of  God.' 

Grave,  Sublime,  and  Pathetic  Emotions. 
Marathon  and  Athens. — ^Byron. 

*  Where'er  we  tread,  'tis  haunted,  holy  ground ; 
No  earth  of  thine  is  lost  in  vulgar  mould  ! 
But  one  vast  realm  of  wonder  spreads  around ; 
And  all  the  Muse's  tales  seem  truly  told. 

Till  the  sense  aches  with  gazing  to  behold 
The  scenes  our  earliest  dreams  have  dwelt  upon  : 
Each  hill  and  dale,  each  deepening  glen  and  wold, 
Defies  the  power  which  crushed  thy  temples  gone  : 
Age  shakes  Athena's  tower,  but  spares  gray  Marathon. 

*  Yet  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendour  past, 
Shall  pilgrims,  pensive,  but  unwearied,  throng ; 
Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  the  Ionian  blast. 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song ; 
Long  shall  thine  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
Fill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  shore  ; 
Boast  of  the  aged  !  lesson  of  the  young ! 
Which  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore. 

As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unveil  their  awful  lore. 

*  Ancient  of  days  !  august  Athena !  where. 
Where  are  thy  men  of  might  ?  thy  grand  in  soul  ? 
Gone — glimmering  through  the  dream  of  things  that  were. 
First  in  the  race  that  led  to  Glory's  goal. 

They  won,  and  passed  away — Is  this  the  whole  ? 
A  schoolboy's  tale,  the  wonder  of  an  hour  ! 


ELEMENTAEY  EXERCISES. PITCH.  187 

The  warrior's  weapon  and  the  sophist's  state 
Are  sought  in  vain ;  and  o'er  each  mouldering  tower, 
Dim  with  the  mist  of  years,  gray  flits  the  shade  of  power/ 

Lowest  Pitch. 
Solemnity,  Awe,  and  Reverence. 
Devotion. — Young. 
*  0  thou  great  Arbiter  of  life  and  death  ! 
Nature's  immortal,  immaterial  sun  ! 
Whose  all-prolific  beam  late  called  me  forth 
From  darkness,  teeming  darkness,  where  I  lay 
The  worm's  inferior ;  and,  in  rank,  beneath 
The  dust  I  tread  on  ;  high  to  bear  my  brow, 
To  drink  the  spirit  of  the  golden  day. 
And  triumph  in  existence  ;  and  couldst  know 
No  motive  but  my  bliss  ;  and  hast  ordained 
A  rise  in  blessing !  with  the  Patriarch's  joy 
Thy  call  I  follow  to  the  land  unknown ; 
I  trust  in  thee,  and  know  in  whom  I  trust : 
Or  life  or  death  is  equal :  neither  weighs  ; 
All  weight  in  this — Oh !  let  me  live  to  thee  !' 

Meditation. — Id. 
'  How  is  Night's  sable  mantle  laboured  o'er, 
How  richly  wrought  with  attributes  divine  ! 
What  wisdom  shines  !  what  love  !     This  midnight  pomp, 
This  gorgeous  arch  with  golden  worlds  inlaid  ! 
Built  with  divine  ambition  ! — nought  to  Thee, — 
For  others  this  profusion. — Thou,  apart. 
Above,  beyond.  Oh !  tell  me,  mighty  Mind ! 
Where  art  thou  ? — shall  I  dive  into  the  deep  ? 
Call  to  the  sun  ?  or  ask  the  roaring  winds 
For  their  Creator  ?     Shall  I  question  loud 
The  thunder,  if  in  that  the  Almighty  dwells  ? 
Or  holds  He  furious  storms  in  straitened  reins, 
And  bids  fierce  whirlwinds  wheel  his  rapid  car  "i 


188  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  What  mean  these  questions  ? — Trembling  I  retract 
My  prostrate  soul  adores  the  present  God  !' 


Sublimity  and  Awe. 
Extract  from  Psalm  XVIII. 
V.  7.  *  Then  the  earth  shook  and  trembled ;  thfe  founda- 
tions also  of  the  hills  moved  and  were  shaken,  because  He 
was  wroth.  8.  There  went  up  a  smoke  out  of  his  nostrils, 
and  fire  out  of  his  mouth  devoured :  coals  were  kindled  by  it 
9.  He  bowed  the  heavens  also,  and  came  down ;  and  dark- 
ness was  under  his  feet.  10.  And  he  rode  upon  a  cherub 
and  did  fly :  yea,  he  did  fly  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

11.  He  made  darkness  his  secret  place ;  his  pavilion  round 
about  him  were  dark  waters  and  thick  clouds  of  the  skies. 

12.  At  the  brightness  that  was  before  him  his  thick  clouds 
passed,  hailstones  and  coals  of  fire.  13.  The  Lord  also  thun- 
dered in  the  heavens,  and  the  Highest  gave  his  voice  ;  hail- 
stones and  coals  of  fire.  14.  Yea,  he  sent  out  his  arrows, 
and  scattered  them  ;  and  he  shot  out  lightnings,  and  discom- 
fited them.  15.  Then  the  channels  of  waters  were  seen,  and 
the  foundations  of  the  world  were  discovered  at  thy  rebuke, 
O  Lord,  at  the  blast  of  the  breath  of  thy  nostrils.' 

Deep  Grief. 
Extract  from  Jeremiah.  IX.  Chap. 
V.  1.  '  Oh !  that  my  head  were  waters,  and  mine  eyes  a 
fountain  of  tears,  that  I  might  weep  day  and  night  for  the 
slain  of  the  daughter  of  my  people !  2.  Oh !  that  I  had  in  the 
wilderness  a  lodging-place  of  way-faring  men,  that  I  might 
leave  my  people  and  go  from  them  !  for  they  be  all  adulte- 
rers, an  assembly  of  treacherous  men.' 

Despondency  and  Despair. 
Extract  from  Job.  XVII.  Chap. 
V.  11.  'My  days  are  past;  my  purposes  are  broken  off, 
even  the  thoughts  of  my  heart.     12.  They  change  the  night 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. ^PITCH.  189 

into  day ;  the  light  is  short  because  of  the  darkness.  13.  If 
I  wait,  the  grave  is  my  house :  I  have  made  my  bed  in  dark- 
ness. 14.  I  have  said  to  corruption,  Thou  art  my  father : 
to  the  worm,  Thou  art  my  mother  and  my  sister.  15.  And 
where  is  now  my  hope  ?  as  for  my  hope  who  shall  see  it  ? 
16.  They  shall  go  down  to  the  bars  of  the  pit,  when  our  rest 
together  is  in  the  dust.' 

Awe  and  Horror. 
Stanzas  of  a  Death  Hymn. — Scott. 

*  That  day  of  wrath  !   that  dreadful  day, 
"When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away ! 
What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day, — 

*  When,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll, 
The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 
And  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread. 
Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead?' 

High  Pitch* 

Joy. 
Sympathy  of  Departed  Spirits  with  Humanity. — Finlayson. 
'  What  a  delightful  subject  of  contemplation  does  the  thought 
of  such  sympathy  open  to  the  pious  and  benevolent  mind ! 
What  a  spring  does  it  give  to  all  the  better  energies  of  the 
heart!  Your  labours  of  love,  your  plans  of  beneficence, 
your  swellings  of  satisfaction  in  the  rising  reputation  of  those 
whose  virtues  you  have  cherished,  will  not,  we  have  reason 
to  hope,  be  terminated  by  the  stroke  of  death.  No  !  your 
spirits  will  still  linger  around  the  objects  of  their  former  at- 

*  The  '  high'  pitch  of  sacred  eloquence  is,  from  the  solemnity  of  asso- 
ciation, lower  in  its  note,  than  that  of  ordinary  oratorical  style.  It  rises 
but  little  above  the  middle  tones  of  the  voice.  It  requires,  however,  on 
this  account,  to  be  the  more  carefully  observed,  that  the  proper  distinc- 
tions of  utterance  may  not  be  lost. 


im 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


tachment.  They  will  behold  with  rapture  even  the  distant 
effects  of  those  beneficent  institutions  which  they  once  de- 
lighted to  rear ;  they  will  watch,  with  a  pious  satisfaction,  over 
the  growing  prosperity  of  the  country  which  they  loved  ;  with 
a  parent's  fondness,  and  a  parent's  exultation,  they  will  share 
in  the  fame  of  their  virtuous  posterity ;  and,  by  the  permis- 
sion of  God,  they  may  descend,  at  times,  as  guardian  angels, 
to  shield  them  from  danger,  and  to  conduct  them  to  glory. 

*  Of  all  the  thoughts  that  can  enter  the  human  mind,  this  is 
one  of  the  most  animating  and  consolatory.  It  scatters 
flowers  around  the  bed  of  death.  It  enables  us  who  are  left 
behind,  to  support  with  firmness  the  departure  of  our  best  be- 
loved friends  ;  because  it  teaches  us  that  they  are  not  lost  to 
us  for  ever.  They  are  still  our  friends.  Though  they  be 
now  gone  to  another  apartment  in  our  Father's  house,  they 
have  carried  with  them  the  remembrance  and  the  feeling  of 
their  former  attachments.  Though  invisible  to  us,  they  bend 
from  their  dwelling  on  high  to  cheer  us  in  our  pilgrimage  of 
duty,  to  rejoice  with  us  in  our  prosperity,  and,  in  the  hour  of 
virtuous  exertion,  to  shed  through  our  souls  the  blessedness 
of  heaven.' 

Joy. 

Extracts  from  Isaiah  LX. 

V.  1.  *  Arise,  shine  ;  for  thy  hght  is  come,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee.  2.  For  behold,  the  darkness 
shall  cover  the  earth,  and  gross  darkness  the  people :  but  the 
Lord  shall  arise  upon  thee,  and  his  glory  shall  be  seen  upon 
thee.  3.  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light,  and  kings 
to  the  brightness  of  thy  rising.  4.  Lift  up  thine  eyes  round 
about,  and  see :  all  they  gather  themselves  together,  they 
come  to  thee  :  thy  sons  shall  come  from  far,  and  thy  daugh- 
ters shall  be  nursed  at  thy  side.' 

13.  '  The  glory  of  Lebanon  shall  come  unto  thee,  the  fir- 
tree,  the  pine-tree,  and  the  box  together,  to  beautify  the  place 
of  my  sanctuary  ;  and  I  will  make  the  place  of  my  feet  glo- 
rious.    14.  The  sons  also  of  them  that  afflicted  thee  shall 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — PITCH.  191 

come  bending  unto  thee  ;  and  all  they  that  despised  thee  shall 
bow  themselves  down  at  the  soles  of  thy  feet ;  and  they  shall 
call  thee  the  city  of  the  Lord,  The  Zion  of  the  Holy  One  of 
Israel.  15.  Whereas  thou  hast  been  forsaken  and  hated,  so 
that  no  man  went  through  thee,  I  will  make  thee  an  eternal 
excellency,  a  joy  of  many  generations.' 

Consolation. 
Extracts  from  Isaiah  LXI. 
V.  1.  *  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  God  is  upon  me ;  because 
the  Lord  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings  unto  the 
meek ;  he  hath  sent  me  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted,  to 
proclaim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the  opening  of  the  prison 
to  them  that  are  bound ;  2.  To  proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of 
the  Lord,  and  the  day  of  vengeance  of  our  God ;  to  comfort 
all  that  mourn  ;  3.  To  appoint  unto  them  that  mourn  in  Zion, 
to  give  unto  them  beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourn- 
ing, the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness ;  that 
they  might  be  called  Trees  of  righteousness,  The  planting  of 
the  Lord,  that  he  might  be  glorified.' 

Triumph. 
Stanzas  from  a  Hymn  on  the  Advent. 

*  Hark ! — the  herald  angels  sing, 
"  Glory  to  the  new-born  king ! 
Peace  on  earth  and  mercy  mild, 
God  and  sinners  reconciled !" 

*  Joyful  all  ye  nations,  rise, 
Join  the  triumph  of  the  skies  ; 
With  the  angelic  host  proclaim, 
"  Christ  is  born  in  Bethlehem  !" 

^  Hail  the  heaven-born  Prince  of  Peace ! 
Hail  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  ! 
Light  and  life„to  all  he  brings. 
Risen  with  healing  in  his  wings  T 


192  PULPIT  ELOCUTIOK. 

Earnest  and  Tender  Emotion.* 
Hymn  of  Invitation. — Colly er. 

*  Return,  O  wanderer — now  return ! 

And  seek  thy  Father's  face ! 
Those  new  desires  which  in  thee  burn, 
Were  kindled  by  his  grace. 

*  Eeturn,  O  wanderer — now  return ! 

He  hears  thy  humble  sigh : 
He  sees  thy  softened  spirit  mourn, 
When  no  one  else  is  nigh. 

^  Return,  O  wanderer — now  return  ! 
Thy  Saviour  bids  thee  live : 
Go  to  his  feet, — and  grateful  learn 
How  freely  he'll  forgive. 

'  Return,  O  wanderer — now  return ! 
And  wipe  the  falling  tear : 
Thy  Father  calls — no  longer  mourn  ! 
'Tis  love  invites  thee  near.' 

EXERCISES  IN  '  INELECTION.'t 

Impassioned  Inflection. 

Interrogation.    (Admitting  of  a  positive  or  a  negative  Answer.) 

Indignation  and  Astonishment. 
[Highest  ascent  of  Rising  Inflection,  or  Upward  Slide.]f 

*  Shall  the  work  say  of  him  that  made  it,  He  made  me  not  ? 
or  shall  the  thing  framed  say  of  him  that  framed  it,  He  had 
no  understanding  ?' 

*  Pathos  and  Tenderness  are  expressed  by  a  high  though  softened  tone. 

t  The  analysis  of  inflection  may,  at  the  option  of  individuals,  be  studied 
in  practical  forms,  as  laid  down  in  the  '  Elocutionist,'  or  scientifically,  as 
in  the  '  Orthophony.'  The  exercises  in  the  present  volume,  are  restricted 
to  the  application  of  prominent  principles. 

X  '  Upward  Concrete'  of  an  Octave,— on  the  system  of  Dr.  Rush. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  INFLECTION.*  193 

*  Can  a  man  be  profitable  unto  God,  as  he  that  is  wise  may 
be  profitable  to  himself?  Is  it  any  pleasure  to  the  Almighty 
that  thou  art  righteous  ?  or  is  it  gain  to  him,  that  thou  makest 
thy  way  perfect  ?  Will  he  reprove  thee  for  fear  of  thee  ?  will 
he  enter  with  thee  into  judgment  ?' 

*  Jesus !  and  shall  it  ever  be — 
A  mortal  man  ashamed  of  thee  ? 
Ashamed  of  thee, — whom  angels  praise  ? 
Whose  glories  shine  through  endless  days  ?' 

Apostrophe. 

Indignant  Appeal. 

[Lowest  descent  of  Falling  Inflection,  or  Downward  Slide.* 

*  Hear,  O  heavens,  and  give  ear,  O  earth :  for  the  Lord 
hath  spoken,  I  have  nourished  and  brought  up  children,  and 
they  have  rebelled  against  me. — -'Ah!  sinful  nation,  a  people 
laden  with  iniquity,  a  seed  of  evil  doers,  children  that  are 
corrupters !' 

Vehement  Denunciation. 

*  W6  unto  them  that  call  evil  good,  and  good  evil ;  that  put 
darkness  for  light,  and  light  for  darkness  ;  that  put  bitter  for 
sweet,  and  sweet  for  bitter !  Wo  unto  them  that  are  wise  in 
their  own  eyes,  and  prudent  in  their  own  sight !  Wo  unta 
them  that  are  mighty  to  drink  wine,  and  men  of  strength  to 
mingle  strong  drink  T 

Kemonstrance  and  Expostulation. 

Indignant  Address. 

[Example  of  boldest  Upward  and  Downward  Slides.] 

*  Is  it  such  a  fast  that  I  have  chosen  ?  a  day  for  a  man  ta 
afliict  his  soul  ?  Is  it  to  bow  down  his  head  as  a  bulrush,  and 
to  spread  sackcloth  and  ashes  under  him  ?  wilt  thou  call  this 

*  'Downward  Concrete'  of  an  Octave, — on  the  system  of  Dr.  Rush. 
17 


194  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

a  fast  and  an  acceptable  day  unto  the  Lord  ? — Is  not  this*  the 
fast  that  I  have  chosen  ?  to  loose  the  bands  of  wickedness,  to 
undo  the  heavy  burdens,  and  to  let  the  oppressed  go  free,  and 
that  ye  break  every  yoke  ?  Is  it  not  to  deal  thy  bread  to  the 
hungry,  and  that  thou  bring  the  poor  that  are  cast  out  to  thy 
house  ?  when  thou  seest  the  naked,  that  thou  cover  him ;  and 
that  thou  hide  not  thyself  from  thine  own  flesh  ? 


Vivid  or  lamest  Inflection. 

Argumentation. 

Discussion. 
[High  ascent  of  Rising  Inflection,  or  Upward  Slide. ]t 

*  Know  ye  not,  brethren,  (for  I  speak  to  them  that  know 
the  law,)  how  that  the  law  hath  dominion  over  a  man  as  long 
as  he  liveth  ? 

<  AVhat  then  ?  shall  we  sin,  because  we  are  not  under  the 
law,  but  under  grace  ?  God  forbid.  Know  ye  not,  that  to 
whom  ye  yield  yourselves  servants  to  obey,  his  servants  ye 
are  to  whom  ye  obey ;  whether  of  sin  unto  death,  or  of  obe- 
dience unto  righteousness  ?* 

Exclamation. 

Admiration. 
[Low  descent  of  Falling  Inflection,  or  Downward  Slide.]  J 

*  Oh !  the  depth  of  the  riches  both  of  the  wisdom  and 
knowledge  of  God !  how  unsearchable  are  his  judgments,  and 
his  ways  past  finding  out !  For  who  hath  known  the  mind  of 
the  Lord,  or  who  hath  been  his  counsellor  ?  Or  who  hath 
first  given  to  him,  and  it  shall  be  recompensed  unto  him 
again  ?  For  of  him,  and  through  him,  and  to  him  are  all 
things :  to  whom  be  glory  for  ever.  Amen  !' 

*  Interrogation,  in  the  form  of  remonstrance  or  expostulation,  adopts 
the  downward  slide,  as  do  all  other  emphatic  forms  of  language. 

t  '  Upward  Concrete'  of  a  '  Fifth,' — in  the  nomenclature  of  Dr.  Rush. 
J  '  Downward  Concrete'  of  a  '  Fifth' 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. *  INFLECTION.'  195 


Hortatory  Injunction  or  Command. 

Earnest  and  Autlioritative  Address. 
[Inflection  as  in  the  preceding  examples.] 

<  If  it  be  possible,  as  much  as  lieth  in  you,  live  peaceably 
with  all  men.  Dearly  beloved,  avenge  not  yourselves,  but 
rather  give  place  unto  wrath :  for  it  is  written.  Vengeance  is 
mine :  'I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.  Therefore,  if  thine  ene- 
my hunger,  feed  him ;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink  :  for  in  so 
doing  thou  shalt  heap  coals  of  fire  on  his  head.  —  Let  every 
soul  be  subject  unto  the  higher  powers.  For  there  is  no 
power  but  of  God :  the  powers  that  be  are  ordained  of  God.* 

Assurance. 
Emphatic  Assertion. 
[Inflection  as  before.] 

*  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death  nor  life,  nor  angels, 
nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things 
to  come,  nor  height  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall 
be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord.* 

Exclamation. — Gratitude. 
[Inflection  as  before.] 

*  Father  of  mercies,  in  thy  word 

What  endless  glory  shines  ! 
For  ever  be  thy  name  adored 
For  these  celestial  lines  \ 

*  Here  may  the  wretched  sons  of  want 

Exhaustless  riches  find, — 
Riches  beyond  what  earth  can  grant, 
And  lasting  as  the  mind.' 

Exclamation. — Exultation. 
[Inflection  as  before.] 

'  Sing,  O  ye  heavens  ;  for  the  Lord  hath  done  it :  shout, 
ye  lower  parts  of  the.  earth:  break  forth  into  singing,  ye 


196  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

mountains,   O  forest,  and  every  tree  therein :  for  the  Lord 
hath  redeemed  Jacob,  and  glorified  himself  in  Israel !' 

Scorn. 
Extract  from  Isaiah  XLIV. 
V.  9.  *  They  that  make  a  graven  image  are  all  of  them 
vaLnity ;  and  their  delectable  things  shall  not  profit ;  and  they 
are  their  own  witnesses ;  they  see  not,  nor  know,  that  they 
may  be  ashamed.  10.  Who  hath  formed  a  god,  or  molten  a 
graven  image,  that  is  profitable  for  nothing?  11.  Behold,  all 
his  fellows  shall  be  ashamed :  and  the  workmen,  they  are  of 
men :  let  them  all  be  gathered  together,  let  them  stand  iip  ; 
yet  they  shall  fear,  and  they  shall  be  ashamed  together. 
12.  The  smith  with  the  tongs  both  worketh  in  the  coals,  and 
fashioneth  it  with  hammers,  and  worketh  it  with  the  strength 
of  his  arms  :  yea,  he  is  hungry,  and  his  strength  faileth :  he 
drinketh  no  water,  and  is  faint.  13.  The  carpenter  stretch- 
eth  out  his  rule :  he  marketh  it  out  with  a  line  ;  he  fitteth  it 
out  with  planes,  and  he  marketh  it  out  with  the  compass,  and 
maketh  it  after  the  figure  of  a  man,  according  to  the  beauty  of 
a  man;  that  it  may  remain  in  the  house.  14.  Hehewethhim 
down  cedars,  and  taketh  the  cypress  and  the  oak,  which  hei 
strengtheneth  for  himself  among  the  trees  of  the  forest :  he 
planteth  an  oak,  and  the  rain  doth  nourish  it.  15.  Then  shall 
it  be  for  a  man  to  burn :  for  he  will  take  thereof,  and  warm 
himself;  yea,  he  kindleth  it,  and  baketh  bread ;  yea,  he  maketh 
a  god,  and  worshippeth  it ;  he  maketh  it  a  graven  image,  and 
faileth  down  thereto.  16.  He  burneth  part  thereof  in  the  fire  ; 
with  part  thereof  he  eateth  flesh ;  he  roasteth  roast,  and  is 
satisfied;  yea,  he  warraeth  himself,  and  saith,  Aha !  I  am  warm, 
I  have  seen  the  fire  :  17.  And  the  residue  thereof  he  maketh 
a  god,  even  his  graven  image :  he  faileth  down  unto  it,  and 
worshippeth  it,  and  prayeth  unto  it,  and  saith,  Deliver  me, 
for  thou  art  my  god.  18.  They  have  not  known  nor  under- 
stood: for  he  hath  shut  their  eyes  that  they  cannot  see  ;  and 
their  hearts,  that  they  cannot  understand.     19.  And  none  con- 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. '  INFLECTION.*  197 

sideretli  in  his  heart,  neither  is  there  knowledge  nor  under- 
standing to  say,  I  have  burned  part  of  it  in  the  fire ;  yea, 
also,  I  have  baked  bread  upon  the  coals  thereof;  I  have 
roasted  flesh,  and  eaten  it:  and  shall  I  make  the  residue 
thereof  an  abomination  ?  shall  I  fall  down  to  the  stock  of  a  tree  ? 
20.  He  feedeth  on  ashes  :  a  deceived  heart  hath  turned  him 
aside,  that  he  cannot  deliver  his  soul,  nor  say,  Is  there  not  a 
lie*  in  my  right  hand  ?' 

Contrasted  Interrogations. 
[Inflections  exemplifying  botti  Slides.] 

*  And  thinkest  thou  this,  O  man,  that  judgest  them  which 
do  such  things,  and  doest  the  same,  that  thou  shalt  escape  the 
judgment  of  God  "^  Or  despisest  thou  the  riches  of  his  good- 
ness, and  forbearance,  and  long-suflfering ;  not  knowing  that 
the  goodness  of  God  leadeth  thee  to  repentance  ?' 

Moderate  Inflection. '\ 

[Rising  Inflection,  or  Upward  Slide.] 
Unimpassioned  or  Unemphatic  Interrogation. 

*  Have  ye  understood  all  these  things  ?* 
^  Know  ye  what  I  have  done  to  you  ?' 

*  Is  it  well  with  thee  "^  Is  it  well  with  thy  husband  ?  Is  it 
well  with  the  child  ?' 

Suspended,  or  Incomplete  sense. 

*  And  if  some  of  the  branches  be  broken  oflP,  and  thou,  be- 
ing a  wild  olive-tree,  wert  graifed  in  among  them,  and  with 
them  partakest  of  the  root  and  fatness  of  the  olive-tree ;  boast 
not  against  the  branches/ 

*  Inconstant  service  we  repay. 
And  treacherous  vows  renew ; 
As  false  as  morning's  scattering  cloud, 
And  transient  as  the  dew.' 

*  Downward  slide  of  emphatic  expression. 

t  Upward  or  Downward  '  Concrete,'  or  slide,  of  a  '  Third.' 

17* 


198 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


LFalling  Inflection,  or  Downward  Slide.] 
Completed  Sense. 
"■  All  things  are  lawful  unto  me  ;  but  all  things  are  not  ex- 
pedient: all  things  are  lawful  for  me;   but  I  will  not  be 
brought  under  the  dominion  of  any.' 

*  Render  therefore  to  all  their  dues  :  tribute  to  whom  trib- 
ute is  due;  custom  to  whom  custom;  fear  to  whom  fear; 
honour  to  whom  honour. 

>  *  Having,  then,  gifts,  differing  according  to  the  grace  that 
is  given  to  us,  whether  prophecy,  let  us  prophesy  according 
to  the  proportion  of  faith ;  or  ministry,  let  us  wait  on  our  minis- 
tering ;  or  he  that  teacheth,  on  teaching ;  or  he  that  exhorteth, 
on  exhortation  ;  he  that  giveth,  let  him  do  it  with  simplicity ; 
he  that  ruleth,  with  diligence  ;  he  that  sheweth  mercy,  with 
cheerfulness.' 

*  Great  God,  thy  penetrating  eye 

Pervades  my  inmost  powers  : 
With  awe  profound  my  wondering  soul 

Falls  prostrate,  and  adores !' 

[Inflections  exemplifying  both  Slides.] 
Correspondence  and  Contrast, 

*  Professing  themselves  to  be  wise,  they  became  fools.* 

<  Now  if  we  be  dead  with  Christ,  we  believe  that  we  shall 
also  live  with  him.' 

*  For  if  we  have  been  planted  together  in  the  likeness  of  his 
death,  we  shall  be  also  in  the  likeness  of  his  resurrection.' 

<  To  be  carnally  minded  is  death ;  but  to  be  spiritually 
minded  is  life  and  peace.' 

*  We  are  fools  for  Christ's  sake,  but  ye  are  wise  in"  Christ ; 
we  are  weak,  but  ye  are  strong ;  ye  are  honourable,  but  we 
are  despised.' 

*  Now  to  him  that  worketh,  is  the  reward  not  reckoned  of 
grace,  but  of  debt.  But  to  him  that  worketh  not,  but  believeth 
on  him  that  justifieth  the  ungodly,  his  faith  is  counted  for 
righteousness.' 

*  The  common  error,  in  contrasts,  is  that  of  a  double  slide,  or  circum- 
flex, instead  of  the  single  upward  or  downward  transit. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  INFLECTION.'  199 

Slight  Inflections.* 
Upward  Slide. 
Intemtpted  Sense. 
'  Oh !   bind  this  heart— 


This  roving  heart — to  thee  !' 
*  Oh  !   may  his  love — immortal  flame ! — 
Tune  every  heart  and  tongue  !' 

Poetic  Effecf\ 

*■  Nor  air,  nor  earth,  nor  skies,  nor  seas, 
Deny  the  tribute  of  their  praise.* 

*  Eternal  Wisdom,  thee  we  praise, 

Thee  all  thy  creatures  sing ; 
"While  with  thy  name,  rocks,  hills,  and  seas, 
And  heaven's  high  palace  ring. 

*  Thy  glories  blaze  all  nature  round, 

And  strike  the  gazing  sight. 
Through  skies,  and  seas,  and  solid  ground, 
With  terror  and  delight.' 

*  Foolish  fears,  and  fond  desires, 

Vain  regrets  for  things  as  vain, 
Lips  too  seldom  taught  to  praise, 
Oft  to  murmur  and  complain ; — 

*  These, — and  every  secret  fault, 

Filled  with  grief  and  shame,  we  own.' 

=*  These  extend  no  farther  on  the  scale  than  the  interval  of  a '  Second,'— 
a  single  tone,  or  the  space  occupied  by  the  transit  of  the  voice  from  one 
note  to  the  next  above  or  below.  Pathetic  expression  reduces  them  to 
the  '  semitone.' 

t  Verse,  and  even  poetic  prose,  require  the  comparatively  melodious 
effect  of  the  '  slight'  inflection,  in  unemphatic  '  series'  or  sequences,  of 
words  and  clauses  which  are  comprehended  under  one  and  the  same  rule 
of  syntax. 


200  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


^Monotone'* 

Sublimity  and  Awe. 
Extract  from  Revelation  XX. 
V.  11.  *  And  I  saw  a  great  white  throne,  and  him  that  sat 
on  it,  from  whose  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away ; 
and  there  was  found  no  place  for  them.  12.  And  I  saw  the 
dead,  small  and  great,  stand  before  God ;  and  the  books  were 
opened  :  and  another  book  was  opened,  which  is  the  book  of 
life :  and  the  dead  were  judged  out  of  those  things  which  were 
written  in  the  books,  according  to  their  works.  1 3.  And  the 
sea  gave  up  the  dead  which  were  in  it ;  and  death  and  hell 
delivered  up  the  dead  which  were  in  them :  and  they  were 
judged  every  man  according  to  their  works.' 

Stanzas. 

*  His  voice  is  heard  the  earth  around, 

When  through  the  heavens  his  thunders  roll ; 
The  troubled  ocean  hears  the  sound, 
And  yields  itself  to  his  control. 

*  When  he  upon  the  lightning  rides. 

His  voice  in  loudest  thunder  speaks ; 
The  fiery  element  divides, 

And  earth  to  its  deep  centre  shakes.' 

*  Double  Slide/  '  Circumflex'  or  '  Wave  J 
Mockery. 

*  And  Elijah  mocked  the  priests  of  Baal,  and  said.  Cry 
aloud  ;t  for  he  is  a  god  :|  either  he  is  talking,  or  he  is  pur- 

*  Rigorous  analysis  may  enable  an  attentive  ear  to  detect  the  '  Second,' 
in  the  '  monotone,'  so  called.  But  the  characteristic  effect  on  the  ear,  by 
the  recurrence  of  the  same  note,  is  that  of  strict  monotone  or  sameness  of 
sound, — as  in  the  successive  sounds  of  a  bell,  compared  with  those  of  any 
other  instrument  of  music. 

t  '  Falling  Circumflex,'  or  '  Direet  Wave,'  in  which  there  is  first  an 
*  Upward,'  then  a  '  Downward  Slide.' 

X  'Rising  Circumflex,'  or  '  Indirect  Wave,'  in  which  there  is  first  a 
'  Downward'  then  an  '  Upward'  slide  of  voice. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. ^INFLECTION.'  201 

suing,  or  he  is  in  a  journey,  or  peradventure  he  sleepeth,  and 
must  be  awaked.'* 


EXERCISES  IN  '  MOVEMENT.' 

The  word  '  movement'  has  properly  the  same  application 
in  elocution  as  in  music.  It  designates  the  rate  of  utterance, 
as  slow,  fast,  or  moderate,  and  implies  the  recognition  of '  time,' 
as  an  element  of  effect,  in  the  modifications  of  the  voice. 

*  Movement,'  in  elocution,  has  not  the  strict  gradations  of  mu- 
sic ;  and,  in  its  applications  to  reading  and  speaking  in  the 
pulpit,  is  usually  limited  to  the  following  degrees, — '  slowest,* 

*  slow,'  '  moderate,' '  lively.' 

The  first  mentioned  of  these  distinctions,  is  exemplified  in 
the  style  of  awe  and  deep  solemnity,  which  prevails  in  the 
utterance  of  the  profoundest  emotions  of  the  soul.  It  occurs 
in  many  passages  of  the  Old  Testament,  in  which  the  lan- 
guage is  of  a  marked  poetic  character,  as  in  the  book  of  Job, 
the  Psalms,  and  portions  of  the  prophetic  writings.  It  per- 
vades, also,  the  peculiar  style  of  the  Book  of  Revelation,  in 
the  New  Testament.  The  *  slowest  movement'  characterizes 
likewise  the  poetry  of  Milton  and  of  Young,  and,  sometimes, 
that  of  Cowper  and  of  Thomson.  It  belongs  appropriately 
to  the  reading  of  those  hymns  which  describe  the  awful  ma- 
jesty of  Jehovah,  and  to  those  which  imbody  the  ideas  of  death, 
retribution,  and  eternity.  It  is  the  peculiarly  distinctive  point 
of  style  in  funeral  discourses. 

The  full  command  over  the  movement  of  the  voice,  is  an 
indispensable  requisite  to  the  proper  effect  of  the  utterance  of 
devotion,  whether  in  the  reading  of  psalms  and  hymns,  or  in 
the  act  of  prayer.  The  following  exercises  should  be  fre- 
quently practised  till  the  full  solemnity  of  the  slowest  enuncia- 

*  The  exemplifications  of  inflection,  in  detail,  may  be  found  in  either 
of  the  manuals  before  mentioned.  Those  which  are  presented  in  the 
present  work,  are  such  as  are  most  frequently  required  in  the  reading  of 
the  Scriptures  and  of  hymns,  or  of  pulpit  discourses. 


202  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

tion  is  attained,  in  that  prolonged,  though  not  drawling  style, 
which  gives  ample  scope  and  majestic  effect  to  every  sound 
of  the  voice,  and  causes  every  element  of  speech  to  succeed 
another  in  the  most  impressive  and  deliberate  style. 

The  language  of  reverence  and  awe,  demands  space  for 
feeling  and  imagination,  in  every  characteristic  sound.  A 
single  devotional  exclamation  ought,  sometimes,  to  convey  the 
whole  heart  and  soul  of  the  speaker,  in  one  element  of  sound. 


*  Slowest  Movement.* 
Awe. 
Immortality. — Young. 
*  Thou  !   whose  all  providential  eye  surveys, 
Whose  hands  directs,  whose  spirit  fills  and  warms 
Creation,  and  holds  empire  far  beyond ! 
Eternity's  Inhabitant  august ! 
Of  two  eternities  amazing  Lord ! — 
One  past,  ere  man's  or  angel's  had  begun ; 
Aid !   while  I  rescue  from  the  foe's  assault 
Thy  glorious  immortality  in  man  : 
A  theme  for  ever,  and  for  all,  of  weight, 
Of  moment  infinite !' 


Profound  Solemnity. 
Midnight . — Thomson. 

*  As  yet  'tis  midnight  deep.     The  weary  clouds, 
Slow-meeting,  mingle  into  solid  gloom. 

Now,  while  the  drowsy  world  lies  lost  in  sleep. 
Let  me  associate  with  the  serious  Night, 
And  Contemplation,  her  sedate  compeer.' 

*  Father  of  light  and  life,  thou  Good  supreme  ! 
Oh !  teach  me  what  is  good  !   teach  me  Thyself ! 
Save  me  from  folly,  vanity,  and  vice. 

From  every  low  pursuit ;  and  feed  my  soul 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES.—*  MOVEMENT.*      203 

With  knowledge,  conscious  peace,  and  virtue  pure  ; 
Sacred,  substantial,  never-fading  bliss !' 

Reverence  and  Awe. 
Stanzas. — ^Needham. 
*  Holy  and  reverend  is  the  name 
Of  our  eternal  King ; 
"  Thrice  holy  Lord,"  the  angels  cry — 
"  Thrice  holy,"  let  us  sing ! 

<  The  deepest  reverence  of  the  mind, 
Pay,  O  my  soul,  to  God ; 
Lift,  with  thy  hands,  a  holy  heart, 
To  his  subUme  abode  !' 

Awe. 

Extract  from  Psalm  XC 

V.  2.  *  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever 
thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting,  thou  art  God.  3.  Thou  turnest  man 
to  destruction ;  and  sayest.  Return,  ye  children  of  men. 
4.  For  a  thousand  years,  in  thy  sight,  are  but  as  yesterday 
when  it  is  past,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night.  5.  Thou  carriest 
them  away  as  with  a  flood  ;  they  are  as  a  sleep  ;  in  the  morn- 
ing they  are  like  grass  which  groweth  up.  6.  In  the  morning 
it  flourisheth,  and  groweth  up ;  in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down, 
and  withereth.' 

Pathos  and  Sublimity. 

Address  of  the  pastor  La  Roche. — M'Kenzie. 

*  You  behold,  the  mourner  of  his  only  child!  the  last  earth- 
ly stay  and  blessing  of  his  declining  years  !  Such  a  child, 
too  I — It  becomes  not  me  to  speak  of  her  virtues !  yet  it  is 
but  gratitude  to  mention  them,  because  they  were  exerted  to- 
wards myself! — Not  many  days  ago,  you  saw  her  young, 
beautiful,  virtuous,  and  happy  1 — Ye  who  are  parents  will 


204  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

judge  of  my  affliction  now !  But  I  look  towards  Him  who 
struck  me  !  I  see  the  hand  of  a  father,  amidst  the  chasten- 
ings  of  my  God  !  Oh  !  could  I  make  you  feel  what  it  is  to 
pour  out  the  heart,  when  it  is  pressed  down  with  many  sor- 
rows !  to  pour  it  out,  with  confidence,  to  Him  in  whose  hands 
are  life  and  death  !  on  whose  power  awaits  all  that  the  former 
enjoys,  and  in  contemplation  of  whom  disappears  all  that  the 
latter  can  inflict ! — For  we  are  not  as  those  who  die  without 
hope  !     We  know  that  our  Redeemer  liveth  ! — 

*  Go,  then :  mourn  not  for  me  !  I  have  not  lost  my  child  ! 
But  a  little  while,  and  we  shall  meet  again,  never  to  be  sepa- 
rated !' 

'  Slow  Movement^ 

This  style  is  exemplified  in  the  ordinary  forms  of  solemn 
and  pathetic  language,  in  description,  narration,  and  senti- 
ment. It  pervades  the  elocution  of  the  more  impressive  pas- 
sages of  Scripture,  generally,  of  most  hymns,  and  of  all  dis- 
courses adapted  to  the  excitement  of  profound  emotion. 

The  main  object  of  practice  in  this  mode  of  voice,  is  to 
preserve  it  from  a  lagging,  drawling,  formal,  or  heavy  effect, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  from  a  tone  too  dry  and  unimpressive, 
on  the  other. 

Solemnity. 
Extract  from  the  Thanatopsis. — ^Bryant. 
*  All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom. — Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce. 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings  ; — yet — the  dead  are  there ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
To  their  last  sleep  : — the  dead  reign  there  alone. — 
So  shalt  thou  rest ; — and  what  if  thou  withdraw 


ELEMENTABY  EXERCISES. 'MOVEMENT.'  205 

Unheeded  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 

"Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  share 

His  favourite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  coma- 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train- 

Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth,  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goe& 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant,  in  the  smiles 

And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off, — 

Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side 

By  those  who,  in  their  turn,  shall  follow  them. 

*  So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but  sustained  and  soothed. 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams.' 

Solemnity  and  Sublimity. 
Extract  from  the  Hymn  of  the  Seasons. — Thomson. 
*  Nature,  attend  !  join,  every  living  soul ; 
Beneath  the  spacious  temple  of  the  sky, 
In  adoration  join ;  and,  ardent,  raise 
One  general  song  !     To  Him,  ye  vocal  gales. 
Breathe  soft ;  whose  Spirit  in  your  freshness  breathes  ; 
Oh  !  talk  of  Him  in  solitary  glooms, 
Where  o'er  the  rock,  the  scarcely  waving  pine 
Fills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe. 
And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar, 
18 


206  PULPIT  ELOCUTIOJT. 

Wlio  shake  the  astonished  world,  lift  high  to  heaven 

The  impetuous  song,  and  say  from  whom  you  rage. 

His  praise,  ye  brooks,  attune,  ye  trembling  rills  ; 

And  let  me  catch  it,  as  I  muse  along. 

Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid,  and  profound  ; 

Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 

Along  the  vale  ;  and  thou,  majestic  main, 

A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself, 

Sound  His  stupendous  praise ;  whose  greater  voice 

Or  bids  you  roar,  or  bids  your  roarings  fall. 

Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 

In  mingled  clouds  to  Him  ;  whose  sun  exalts, 

Whose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paints. 

Ye  forests  bend,  ye  harvests  wave,  to  Him ; 

Breathe  your  still  song  into  the  reaper's  heart, 

As  home  he  goes  beneath  the  joyous  moon. 

Ye  that  keep  watch  in  heaven,  as  earth  asleep 

Unconscious  lies,  effuse  your  mildest  beams, 

Ye  constellations,  while  your  angels  strike. 

Amid  the  spangled  sky,  the  silver  lyre. 

Great  source  of  day  !  best  image,  here  below, 

Of  thy  Creator,  ever  pouring  wide. 

From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round ; 

On  nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 

The  thunder  rolls  :  be  hushed  the  prostrate  world ; 

"While  cloud  to  cloud  repeats  the  solemn  hymn.' 


Solemnity  and  Tranquillity. 
The  Antidote  to  Adversity. — Wordsworth. 
*  One  adequate  support 
For  the  calamities  of  mortal  life 
Exists, — one  only  ; — an  assured  belief 
That  the  procession  of  our  fate,  howe'er 
Sad  or  disturbed,  is  ordered  by  a  Being 
Of  infinite  benevolence  and  power, 
Whose  everlasting  purposes  embrace 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  MOVEMENT.'  207 

All  accidents,  converting  them  to  Good. — 
<  The  darts  of  anguish  fix  not  where  the  seat 

Of  suffering  hath  been  thoroughly  fortified 

By  acquiescence  in  the  Will  Supreme, 

For  Time  and  for  Eternity  ;  by  faith. 

Faith  absolute  in  God,  including  hope. 

And  the  defence  that  Ues  in  boundless  love 

Of  his  perfections  ;  with  habitual  dread 

Of  aught  unworthily  conceived,  endured 

Impatiently,  ill-done,  or  left  undone. 

To  the  dishonour  of  His  holy  name. — 

'  Soul  of  our  souls,  and  safeguard  of  the  world  I 

Sustain,  Thou  only  canst,  the  sick  of  heart ; 

Restore  their  languid  spirits,  and  recall 

Their  lost  affections  unto  Thee  and  Thine  !' 


Pathos. 
Extract  from  Kirk  White's  'Prospect  of  Death? 
Sad  solitary  Thought !  who  keep'st  thy  vigils, 
Thy  solemn  vigils,  in  the  sick  man's  mind  ; 
Communing  lonely  with  his  sinking  soul. 
And  musing  on  the  dubious  glooms  that  lie 
In  dim  obscurity  before  him, — thee 
Wrapt  in  thy  dark  magnificence,  I  call 
At  this  still  midnight  hour,  this  awful  season, 
When  on  my  bed  in  wakeful  restlessness, 
I  turn  me  wearisome  ;  while,  all  around. 
All,  all,  save  me,  sink  in  forgetfulness  ; 
I  only  wake  to  watch  the  sickly  taper 
Which  hghts  me  to  my  tomb. — ^Yes  'tis  the  hand 
Of  Death  I  feel  press  heavy  on  my  vitals. 
Slow-sapping  the  warm  current  of  existence. 
My  moments  now  are  few, — the  sand  of  life 
Ebbs  swiftly  to  its  finish. — Yet  a  little, 
And  the  last  fleeting  particle  will  fall. 
Silent,  unseen,  unnoticed,  unlamented. — 


208  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  On  mj  grassy  grave 
The  men  of  future  times  will  careless  tread, 
And  read  my  name  upon  the  sculptured  stone  ; 
Nor  will  the  sound,  familiar  to  their  ears, 
Recall  my  vanished  memory.' 

Solemnity,  Sublimity,  and  Awe. 
Extract  from  Job,  XXVI. 
y.  4.  To  whom  hast  thou  uttered  words  ?  and  whose  spirit 
came  from  thee  ?  5.  Dead  things  are  formed  from  under  the 
waters,  and  the  inhabitants  thereof.  6.  Hell  is  naked  before 
him,  and  destruction  hath  no  covering.  7.  He  stretcheth  out 
the  north  over  the  empty  place,  and  hangeth  the  earth  upon 
nothing.  8.  He  bindeth  up  the  waters  in  his  thick  clouds  ; 
and  the  cloud  is  not  rent  under  them.  9.  He  holdeth  back 
the  face  of  his  throne,  and  spreadeth  his  cloud  upon  it.  10. 
He  hath  compassed  the  waters  with  bounds,  until  the  day  and 
night  come  to  an  end.  11.  The  pillars  of  heaven  tremble, 
and  are  astonished  at  his  reproof.  12.  He  divideth  the  sea 
with  his  power ;  and  by  his  understanding  he  smiteth  through 
the  proud.  13.  By  his  spirit  he  hath  garnished  the  heavens ; 
his  hand  hath  formed  the  crooked  serpent.  14.  Lo !  these 
are  parts  of  his  ways ;  but  how  little  a  portion  is  heard  of 
him  !  But  the  thunder  of  his  power  who  can  understand  ?' 

Pathos. 
Exti'act  from  Lamentations,  V. 
V.  15.  *  The  joy  of  our  heart  is  ceased :  our  dance  is  turn- 
ed into  mourning.  16.  The  crown  is  fallen  from  our  head  : 
wo  unto  us  that  we  have  sinned !  17.  For  this  our  heart  is 
faint;  for  these  things  our  eyes  are  dim.  18.  Because  of 
the  mountain  of  Zion,  which  is  desolate :  the  foxes  walk  up- 
on it.  19.  Thou,  O  Lord,  remainest  forever ;  thy  throne 
from  generation  to  generation.  20.  Wherefore  dost  thou  for- 
get us  for  ever,  and  forsake  us  so  long  time  ?  21.  Turn  thou 
us  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  and  we  shall  be  turned ;  renew  our 
days  as  of  old.* 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. <  MOVEMENT,'  209 


Consolation. 
Stanza. — Doddridge. 
*  Peace  1  humbled  soul,  whose  plaintive  moan 
Hath  taught  these  rocks  the  notes  of  wo ; 
Cease  thy  complaint, — suppress  thy  groan, 

And  let  thy  tears'  forget  to  flow  : 
Behold,  the  precious  balm  is  found, 
To  lull  thy  pain,  to  heal  thy  wound  !' 

Pathos  and  Solemnity. 
The  Strangers'  Nook  in  the  Burial-ground. — R.  Chambers. 
*  The  graves  of  the  strangers  ! — what  tales  are  told  by  ev- 
ery undistinguished  heap, — what  eloquence  in  this  utter  ab- 
sence of  epitaphs  !' — '  Here,  we  may  suppose,  rests  the  weary 
old  man,  to  whom,  after  many  bitter  shifts,  all  bitterly  disap- 
pointed, wandering  and  mendicancy  had  become  a  trade. 
His  snow-white  head,  which  had  suffered  the  inclemency  of 
many  winters,  was  here,  at  last,  laid  low  for  ever.  Here,  also, 
the  homeless  youth,  who  had  trusted  himself  to  the  wide  world 
in  search  of  fortune,  was  arrested  in  his  wanderings ;  and 
whether  his  heart  was  as  light  and  buoyant  as  his  purse,  or 
weighed  down  with  many  privations  and  disappointments, 
the  end  was  the  same, — only,  in  the  one  case,  a  blight ;  in  the 
other,  a  bliss.  The  prodigal,  who  had  wandered  far,  and 
fared  still  worse  and  worse,  at  length  returning,  was  here  cut 
short  in  his  better  purpose,  far  from  those  friends  to  whom 
he  looked  forward  as  a  consolation  for  all  his  wretchedness. 
Perhaps,  when  stretched  in  mortal  sickness  in  a  homely  lodg- 
ing, in  the  neighbouring  village,  where,  though  kindness  was 
rendered,  it  was  still  the  kindness  of  strangers,  his  mind  wan- 
dered in  repentant  fondness  to  that  mother  whom  he  had 
parted  with  in  scorn,  but  for  whose  hand  to  present  his  cup, 
and  whose  eye  to  melt  him  with  its  tenderness,  he  would  now 
gladly  give  the  miserable  remains  of  his  life.  Perhaps  he 
thought  of  a  brother,  also  parted  with  in  rage  and  distrust, 
18* 


210  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

but  who,  in  their  early  years,  had  played  with  him,  a  fond 
and  innocent  child,  over  the  summer  leas,  and  to  whom  that 
recollection  forgave  everything.  No  one  .of  these  friends  to 
soothe  the  last  moments  of  his  wayward  and  unhappy  life — 
•scarcely  even  to  hear  of  his  death  when  it  had  taken  place. 
Par  from  every  remembered  scene,  every  remembered  face, 
lie  was  doomed  here  to  take  his  place  amidst  the  noteless 
■dead,  and  be  as  if  he  had  never  been. 

'  Perhaps  one  of  these  graves  contains  the  shipwrecked  mar- 
iner, hither  transferred  from  the  neighbouring  beach. — A  cry 
was  heard  by  night  through  the  storm  which  dashed  the 
waves  upon  the  rocky  coast ;  deliverance  was  impossible ; 
and  next  morning,  the  only  memorial  of  what  had  taken  place, 
was  the  lifeless  body  of  a  sailor,  stretched  on  the  sand.  No 
trace  of  name  or  kin  ;  not  even  the  name  of  the  vessel,  was 
learned ;  but,  no  doubt,  as  the  villagers  would  remark  in  con- 
veying him  to  the  Strangers'  Nook,  he  left  some  heart  to  pine 
for  his  absence,  some  eyes  to  mourn  for  him,  if  his  loss  should 
•ever  be  ascertained.  There  are  few  so  desolate  on  earth  as 
not  to  have  one  friend  or  associate.  There  must  either  be  a 
wife  to  be  widowed,  or  a  child  to  be  made  an  orphan,  or  a 
mother  to  suffer  her  own  not  less  grievous  bereavement.  Per- 
haps the  sole  beloved  object  of  some  humble  domestic  circle, 
whose  incomings  and  outgoings  were  ever  pleasant,  is  here 
laid  low  ;  while  neither  can  the  bereaved  learn  aught  of  the 
fate  and  final  resting-place  of  their  favourite,  nor  can  those 
who  kindly,  but  without  mourning,  performed  his  last  offices, 
reach  their  ears  with  the  intelligence, — grateful  even  in  its 
pain, — of  what  had  been  done  to  his  remains  :  here  the  ener- 
gies which  had  battled  with  the  waves  in  their  hour  of  might, 
and  the  despair  whose  expression  had  been  wasted  upon  the 
black  tempest,  are  all  stilled  into  rest,  and  forgotten.  The 
storm  is  done ;  its  work  has  been  accomplished ;  and  here 
lies  the  strange  mariner,  where  no  storms  shall  ever  again 
trouble  him.' — 

*  To  the  other  graves  there  was  also  some  one  to  resort 
afterwards,  to  lament  the  departure  of  those  who  lay  below. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  MOVEMENT.'  211 

The  spot  was  always  cherished  and  marked  by  at  least  one 
generation  of  kind  ones ;  and,  whether  distinguished  by  a 
monument  or  not,  there  was  always  a  greater  or  less  interval 
before  the  memory  of  the  deceased  entirely  perished  from  its 
place.  Still,  as  each  holy  day  came  round,  and  the  living 
flocked  to  the  house  of  prayer,  there  was  always  some  one  to 
send  a  kind  eye  aside  towards  that  little  mound,  and  be  for  a 
moment  moved  with  a  pensive  feeling,  as  the  heart  recalled  a 
departed  parent,  or  child,  or  friend.  But  the  graves  of  the 
strangers  !  all  regard  was  shut  out  from  them  as  soon  as  the 
sod  had  closed  over  them.  The  decent  few  who  had  aiFected 
mourning  over  the  strangers,  had  no  sooner  turned  away,  than 
they  were  at  once  forgotten.  That  ceremony  over,  their 
kind  had  done  with  them  for  ever.  And  so,  there  they  lie,  dis- 
tinguished from  the  rest  only  by  the  melancholy  mark  that 
they  are  themselves  undistinguished  from  each  other  ;  no  eye 
to  weep  over  them  now  or  hereafter,  and  no  regard  whatso- 
ever to  be  paid  to  them  till  they  stand  forth,  with  their  fellow- 
men,  at  the  Great  and  Final  Day.' 

Awe  and  Pathos. 

The  Death  of  the  Wicked. — Massillon. 

'  The  remembrance  of  the  past,  and  the  view  of  the  present, 
would  be  little  to  the  expiring  sinner ;  could  he  confine  him- 
self to  these,  he  would  not  be  so  completely  miserable ;  but 
the  thoughts  of  a  futurity  convulse  him  with  horror  and  de- 
spair. That  futurity,  that  incomprehensible  region  of  dark- 
ness, which  he  now  approaches, — conscience  his  only  com- 
panion ;  that  futurity,  that  unknown  land  from  which  no  trav- 
eller has  ever  returned,  where  he  knows  not  whom  he  shall 
find,  nor  what  awaits  him ;  that  futurity,  that  fathomless  abyss, 
in  which  his  mind  is  lost  and  bewildered,  and  into  which  he 
must  now  plunge,  ignorant  of  his  destiny ;  that  futurity,  that 
tomb,  that  residence  of  horror,  where  he  must  now  occupy  his 
place  amongst  the  ashes  and  the  carcasses  of  his  ancestors ; 


•212  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

that  futurity,  that  incomprehensible  eternity,  even  the  aspect 
of  which  he  cannot  support ;  that  futurity,  in  a  word,  that 
dreadful  judgment,  at  which,  before  the  wrath  of  God,  he 
must  now  appear,  and  render  account  of  a  life,  of  which  every 
moment  almost  has  been  occupied  by  crimes. 

*  Alas  !  while  he  only  looked  forward  to  this  terrible  futu- 
rity at  a  distance,  he  made  an  infamous  boast  of  not  dreading 
it ;  he  continually  demanded,  with  a  tone  of  blasphemy  and  de- 
rision. Who  is  returned  from  it  ?  He  ridiculed  the  vulgar  ap- 
prehensions, and  piqued  himself  upon  his  undaunted  courage. 
But  from  the  moment  that  the  hand  of  God  is  upon  him ; 
from  the  moment  that  death  approaches  near,  that  the  gate? 
of  eternity  open  to  receive  him,  and  that  he  touches  upon  that 
terrible  futurity,  against  which  he  seemed  so  fortified — ah ! 
he  then  becomes  either  weak,  trembhng,  dissolved  in  tears, 
raising  up  suppliant  hands  to  heaven,  or  gloomy,  silent,  agi- 
tated, revolving  within  himself  the  most  dreadful  thoughts, 
and  no  longer  expecting  more  consolation  or  mercy,  from 
his  weak  tears  and  lamentations,  than  from  his  frenzies  and 
despair.* 


^Moderate  Movement 

This  modification  of  the  '  time'  of  utterance,  occurs  in  the 
style  of  the  epistles  in  the  New  Testament,  of  hymns  of  senti- 
ment, essays,  lectures,  practical  and  doctrinal  discourses, — 
whatever,  in  a  word,  falls  under  the  customary  rhetorical  de- 
signation of  *  didactic'  composition.  The  character  of  the 
*  movement,'  or  rate  of  voice,  in  the  elocution  of  pieces  of 
this  description,  is  adapted  to  the  comparatively  moderate 
emotions,  and,  consequently,  the  unimpassioned  tones,  which 
pervade  their  language. 

The  practice  of  the  following  exercises,  demands  attention 
to  that  proper  medium  of  utterance  which  avoids  equally 
slowness  and  hurry.  Deliberateness  and  composure  are  the 
states  of  feeling  to  be  expressed  in  the  formation  and  succes- 
sion of  the  sounds  of  the  voice. 


ELEMENTARY   EXKRCISES. 'MOVEMENT.'  213 

Elevated  Sentiment. 
The  Enlargement  of  our  Intellectual  Powers. — Savile. 

'  From  the  right  exercise  of  our  intellectual  powers  arises 
one  of  the  chief  sources  of  our  happiness.  The  light  of  the 
sun  is  not  so  pleasant  to  the  eye  as  the  light  of  knowledge  to 
the  mind.  The  gratifications  of  sense  yield  but  a  delusive 
charm,  compared  with  the  intellectual  joys  of  which  we  are 
susceptible.  But  these  intellectual  joys,  however  refined,  are 
at  present  much  interrupted.  However  wide  the  extent  of 
human  knowledge,  however  deep  the  researches  of  human 
wisdom,  still  it  must  be  confessed,  that,  in  this  life,  our  facul- 
ties are  exceedingly  limited,  and  our  views  exceedingly  con- 
fined. Light,  to  us,  is  everywhere  mixed  with  darkness. 
Wherever  we  cast  our  eyes,  or  turn  our  thoughts,  we  are  re- 
minded of  our  ignorance,  are  liable  to  perpetual  mistakes,  and 
often  fall  into  them  even  in  our  wisest  pursuits.  But  when 
the  day  of  immortality  dawns,  all  this  shall  vanish ;  the  en- 
cumbrance of  flesh  and  blood  shall  no  longer  grieve  us,  nor 
the  thick  shades  of  ignorance  ever  more  surround  us.  The 
happy  spirit  emancipated,  and  having  left  the  spoils  of  mor- 
tality behind  it,  shall  be  able  to  comprehend,  fully  and  at  once, 
all  the  truths  and  objects  which  now  either  come  but  very 
partially  within,  or  entirely  escape,  its  observation. — Here 
we  are  only  children,  but  in  heaven  we  shall  arrive  at  the 
manhood  of  our  being  ;  and  therefore  we  justly  infer,  that  the 
strength  and  manhood  of  our  intellectual  powers  then,  will 
surpass,  at  least,  as  much  what  they  are  now^  as  the  reason 
and  judgment  of  a  man  exceed  those  of  a  child. 

But  however  this  may  be,  certain  we  are,  that  the  faculties 
with  which  we  are  at  present  blessed,  and  which  are  essential 
to  our  nature,  shall  be  to  a  wonderful  degree  invigorated  and 
improved.  They  shall  be  capable  of  taking  in  far  more  copi- 
ous views,  and  abundantly  larger  emanations  of  God's  excel- 
lence, nay,  of  tracing  the  hidden  springs  of  his  mysterious  ope- 
rations.— The  volumes  of  nature,  of  providence,  and  of  re- 


214  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

demption,  shall  be  revealed :  all  the  records  both  of  time  and 
eternity  shall  be  opened  and  explained. 

*  We  already  know,  in  some  measure,  the  charms  of  novelty, 
and  feel  the  delight  which  arises  from  the  contemplation  of 
objects  new,  grand,  and  beautiful.  Let  us  imagine  then,  if 
we  can,  the  pleasing  sensations  we  shall  experience,  the  high 
transports  we  shall  feel,  when  other  and  unseen  worlds  shall 
be  disclosed  to  our  view,  and  all  the  glories  of  the  celestial 
paradise  beam  on  our  wondering  eyes. — Such  a  felicity,  even 
in  prospect,  enlarges  the  mind,  and  fills  it  with  emotions 
which,  while  it  feels,  it  cannot  express. 

*  That  our  intellectual  powers,  in  a  future  state,  shall  really 
be  thus  amazingly  enlarged,  is  not  a  matter  of  mere  conjec- 
ture ;  it  is  what  experience,  and  reason,  and  revelation,  lend 
their  combined  aid  to  confirm.  Experience  teaches  us,  that 
activity  is  essential  to  mind,  and  necessary  to  true  enjoyment. 
Reason  tells  us,  that  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  particularly 
that  which  respects  the  works  and  ways  of  the  Most  High,  is 
the  noblest  exercise  in  which  the  active  powers  of  the  mind 
can  be  employed,  and  a  source  of  the  most  refined  enjoyment 
of  which  an  intellectual  being  is  capable.  And  to  confirm  the 
dictates  of  reason,  revelation  assures  us,  that  "  now  we  know 
only  in  part ;  but  that  hereafter  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be 
done  away ; — that  now  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly ;  but 
that  then  we  shall  see  God  face  to  face,  and  know  him  even 
as  also  we  are  known." — Blissful  perfection  !  most  amazing 
exaltation !  While  the  men  of  the  world  walk  in  a  vain  show, 
and  tire  themselves  in  folly, — Oh  !  let  us  expatiate  wide  in 
the  fields  of  wisdom,  explore  the  traces  of  infinite  beauty,  the 
impressions  of  celestial  majesty, — lose  ourselves  in  the  depths 
of  unutterable  grace, — the  knowledge  of  the  adorable  Jesus, 
and  thus  taste  in  time  the  pleasures  of  eternity.' 

Mercy. — Shakspeare . 
*  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath :  it  is  twice  bless'd, 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  MOVEMENT.'  215: 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes. 
'Tis  mightiest  ia  the  mightiest;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings ; 
But  mercy  is  above  the  sceptered  sway, — 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, — 
It  is  an  attritaite  to  God  himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.' 

Argument. 
Reasons  against  Anger. — Holland. 

*  However  manly  and  vigorous  anger  may  sometimes  be 
thought,  as  a  defensive  instinct,  it  is  in  fact  but  a  weak  prin- 
ciple, compared  with  the  sedate  resolution  of  a  wise  and  vir- 
tuous man.  The  one  is  uniform  and  permanent,  like  the 
strength  of  a  person  in  perfect  health ;  the  other,  like  a  force 
which  proceedeth  from  a  fever,  is  violent  for  a  time,  but  it 
soon  leaves  the  mind  more  feeble  than  before.  To  him, 
therefore,  who  is  armed  with  a  proper  firmness  of  soul,  no  de- 
gree of  passion  can  be  useful  in  any  respect.  And  to  say  it 
can  ever  be  laudable  and  virtuous,  is  indeed  a  very  bold  as- 
sertion. For  the  most  part,  we  blame  it  in  others ;  and,  though 
we  are  apt  to  be  indulgent  enough  to  our  own  faults,  we  are 
often  ashamed  of  it  even  in  ourselves.  Hence,  it  is  common 
to  hear  men  excusing  themselves,  and  seriously  declaring  they 
were  not  angry,  when  they  gave  unquestionable  proofs  to  the 
contrary. 

'But  do  we  not  commend  him  who  resents  the  injuries 
done  to  a  friend  or  innocent  person  ?  Yes,  we  commend  him ; 
yet  not  for  passion,  but  for  that  generosity  and  friendship  of 
which  it  is  the  evidence.  For,  let  any  one  impartially  con- 
sider which  of  these  characters  he  esteems  the  better ;— his, 


216  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

who  interests  himself  in  the  injuries  of  his  friend,  and  zeal- 
ously defends  him  with  perfect  calmness  and  serenity  of  tem- 
per ;  or  his,  who  pursues  the  same  conduct  under  the  influence 
-of  resentment. 

*If  anger,  then,  is  neither  useful  nor  commendable,  it  is 
certainly  the  part  of  wisdom  to  suppress  it  entirely.  We 
should  rather  confine  it,  you  tell  us,  within  certain  bounds. 
But  how  shall  we  ascertain  the  limits,  to  which  it  may,  and 
beyond  which  it  ought  not  to  pass  ?  Wh^  we  receive  a  mani- 
fest injury,  it  seems  we  may  resent  it,  provided  we  do  it  with 
moderation.  When  we  suffer  a  worse  abuse,  our  anger,  I 
suppose,  may  rise  somewhat  higher.  Now,  as  the  degrees  of 
injustice  are  infinite,  if  our  anger  must  always  be  proportioned 
to  the  occasion,  it  may  possibly  proceed  to  the  utmost  extrava- 
gance. Shall  we  set  bounds  to  our  resentment,  while  we  are 
yet  calm  ?  How  can  we  be  assured,  that  being  once  let  loose, 
it  will  not  carry  us  beyond  them  ?  or  shall  we  give  passion 
the  reins,  imagining  we  can  resume  them  at  pleasure,  or  trust- 
ing it  will  tire  or  stop  of  itself,  as  soon  as  it  has  run  to  its 
proper  length  ?  As  well  might  we  think  of  giving  laws  to  a 
tempest ;  as  well  might  we  endeavour  to  run  mad  by  rule  and 
method. 

*  In  reality,  it  is  much  easier  to  keep  ourselves  free  from 
resentment,  than  to  restrain  it  from  going  to  excess,  when  it 
has  gained  admission ;  for  if  reason,  while  her  strength  is  yet 
entire,  is  not  able  to  preserve  her  dominion,  what  can  she  do 
when  her  enemy  has  in  part  prevailed,  and  weakened  her 
force  ?  To  use  the  illustration  of  an  excellent  author : — we 
can  prevent  the  beginnings  of  some  things,  whose  progress 
afterwards  we  cannot  hinder.  We  can  forbear  to  cast  ourselves 
down  from  a  precipice :  but,  if  once  we  have  taken  the  fatal 
leap,  we  must  descend,  whether  we  will  or  not.  Thus,  the 
mind,  if  duly  cautious,  may  stand  firm  upon  the  rock  of  tran- 
quillity ;  but  if  she  rashly  forsake  the  summit,  she  can  scarcely 
recover  herself,  but  is  hurried  away  downwards  by  her  own 
passion,  with  increasing  violence,' 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — '  MOVEMENT.'  217 


Explanatory  Instruction. 
II.  Coi'inthians.  Chap.  IV. 

V.  1.  ^  Seeing  we  have  this  ministry,  as  we  have  received 
mercy,  we  faint  not;  2.  But  have  renounced  the  hidden? 
things  of  dishonesty ;  not  walking  in  craftiness,  nor  handling: 
the  word  of  God  deceitfully;  but  by  manifestation  of  the- 
truth,  commending  ourselves  to  every  man's  conscience  in  the- 
sight  of  God. 

3.  *  But  if  our  gospel  be  hid,  it  is  hid  to  them  that  are  lost  r 
4.  In  whom  the  god  of  this  world  hath  blinded  the  minds  of" 
them  which  believe  not,  lest  the  light  of  the  glorious  gospel  of 
Christ,  who  is  the  image  of  God,  should  shine  unto  them. 

5.  ^  For  we  preach  not  ourselves,  but  Christ  Jesus  the  Lord ; 
and  ourselves  your  servants  for  Jesns'  sake.  6.  For  God,, 
who  commanded  the  light  to  shine  out  of  darkness,  hath  shined 
in  our  hearts,  to  give  the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  the  glory 
of  God  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ. 

7.  *  But  we  have  this  treasure  in  earthen  vessels,  that  the 
excellency  of  the  power  may  be  of  God,  and  not  of  us.  8.  We- 
are  troubled  on  every  side,  yet  not  distressed ;  we  are  per- 
plexed, but  not  in  despair ;  9.  Persecuted,  but  not  forsaken ; 
cast  down,  but  not  destroyed  ;  10.  Always  bearing  about  in 
the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  that  the  life  also  of  Je-^ 
sus  might  be  made  manifest  in  our  body.  11.  For  we  which, 
live  are  always  delivered  unto  death  for  Jesus'  sake,  that  the 
life  also  of  Jesus  might  be  made  manifest  in  our  mortal  fleshy 
12.  So  then  death  worketh  in  us,  but  life  in  you. 

13.  ^  We  having  the  same  spirit  of  faith,  according  as  it  is 
written,  I  believed,  and  therefore  have  I  spoken ;  we  also  be- 
lieve,  and  therefore  speak;  14.  Knowing,  that  he  which 
raised  up  the  Lord  Jesus,  shall  raise  up  us  also  by  Jesus,  and 
shall  present  us  with  you.  15.  For  all  things  are  for  your 
sakes,  that  the  abundant  grace  might  through  the  thanksgiv- 
ing of  many  redound  to  the  glory  of  God. 

16.  '  For  which  cause  we  faint  not ;  but  though  our  outward 
19 


818  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

man  perish,  yet  the  inward  man  is  renewed  day  by  day. 

17.  For  pur  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  work- 
eth  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory ; 

18.  While  we  look  not  at  the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the 
things  which  are  not  seen :  for  the  things  which  are  seen  are 
temporal ;  but  the  things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal.' 

Humane  Sentiment. 
Hymn. — Mrs.  Barbaald. 

*  Blest  is  the  man  whose  softening  heart 

Feels  all  another's  pain ; 
To  whom  the  supplicating  eye 
Is  never  raised  in  vain ; — 

*  Whose  breast  expands  with  generous  warmth, 

A  brother's  woes  to  feel, 
And  bleeds  in  pity  o'er  the  wound 
He  wants  the  power  to  heal. 

*  He  spreads  his  kind  supporting  arms 

To  every  child  of  grief : 
His  secret  bounty  largely  flows, 
And  brings  unasked  relief. 

*  To  gentle  offices  of  love 

His  feet  are  never  slow : 
He  views,  through  mercy's  melting  eye, 
A  brother  in  a  foe.' 

*  Lively  Movement.^ 

This  modification  of  utterance  belongs  to  all  animated  com- 
position, whether  narrative,  descriptive,  or  didactic.  It  im- 
jl^lies  vivid  emotion  or  sentiment,  as  the  prompting  cause  of  a 
Quicker  movement  of  voice,  than  belongs  to  merely  moderate 
feeling  and  expression.  The  frequent  practice  of  the  sub- 
joined examples,  will  serve  to  impart  animation  to  the  voice, 
in  appropriate  passages.  The  error  to  be  guarded  against,  in 
these  exercises,  is  that  of  not  coming  fully  up  to  the  standard 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. — 'MOVEMENT.*  219 

of  animated  movement,  as  regards  its  liveliness  and  brisk  ef- 
fect. A  common  fault  which  deadens  the  character  of  utter- 
ance, is  that  of  using  *  median'  instead  of  *  radical  stress,'  in 
conjunction  with  the  proper  acceleration  of  movement.  The 
pungent  and  piercing  effect  of  awakening  and  kindling  emo- 
tion, is  thus  lost  to  the  ear.  The  proper  union  of  lively  move- 
ment and  radical  stress,  has  the  pointed  effect  of  what  are 
termed  '  staccato'  notes,  in  music, — or  that  of  the  distinct 
touch  of  the  harp,  compared  to  the  gliding  sound  produced  by 
the  bow  on  the  violin. 

Animation  and  Courage, 
Stanzas. — Watts. 

*  Awake,  our  souls, — away,  our  fears, 

Let  every  trembling  thought  be  gone ! 
Awake,  and  run  the  heavenly  race, 
And  put  a  cheerful  courage  on  I 

*  Swift  as  an  eagle  cuts  the  air, 

We'll  mount  aloft  to  Thine  abode ; 
On  wings  of  love  our  souls  shall  fly, 
Nor  tire  amid  the  heavenly  road.* 

Joy. 
Hymn. — Doddridge. 
^  Sing,  all  ye  ransomed  of  the  Lord, 
Your  great  Deliverer  sing : 
Ye  pilgrims,  now  for  Zion  bound, 
Be  joyful  in  your  King ! 

*  His  hand  divine  shall  lead  you  on 

Through  all  the  blissful  road  ; 
Till  to  the  sacred  mount  you  rise, 
And  see  your  gracious  God. 

*  Bright  garlands  of  immortal  joy 

Shall  bloom  on  every  head  ; 
While  sorrow,  sighing,  and  distress, 
Like  shadows  all  are  fled. 


820 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


'  March  on  ;  in  your  Redeemer's  strength 
Pursue  his  footsteps  still ; 
With  joyful  hope  still  fix  your  eye 
On  Zion's  heavenly  hill !' 

Triumph. 
Extract  from  Psalm  LXVIII. 

V.  1.  *  Let  God  arise,  let  his  enemies  be  scattered :  let 
them  also  that  hate  him  flee  before  him.  2.  As  smoke  is 
driven  away,  so  drive  them  away  :  as  wax  melteth  before  the 
fire,  so  let  the  wicked  perish  at  the  presence  of  God.  3.  But 
let  the  righteous  be  glad ;  let  them  rejoice  before  God  :  yea, 
let  them  exceedingly  rejoice.  4.  Sing  unto  God,  sing  praises 
to  his  name.' 

15.  '  The  hill  of  God  is  as  the  hill  of  Bashan  ;  a  high  hill 
as  the  hill  of  Bashan.  16.  Why  leap  ye,  ye  high  hills  ?  this 
is  the  hill  which  God  desireth  to  dwell  in  ;  yea,  the  Lord  will 
dwell  in  it  for  ever.  17.  The  chariots  of  God  are  twenty 
thousand,  even  thousands  of  angels  :  the  Lord  is  among  them, 
as  is  Sinai,  in  the  holy  place.  18.  Thou  hast  ascended  on 
high,  thou  hast  led  captivity  captive :  thou  hast  received  gifts 
for  men ;  yea,  for  the  rebeUious  also,  that  the  Lord  God 
might  dwell  among  them.' 

Animated  Exhortation. 
Christian  Courage. — Moodie. 
<  The  heathen,  unsupported  by  those  prospects  which  the 
Grospel  opens,  might  be  supposed  to  have  sunk  under  every 
trial ;  yet,  even  among  them,  was  sometimes  displayed  an 
exalted  virtue, — a  virtue,  which  no  Interest,  no  danger,  could 
shake ;  a  virtue,  which  could  triumph  amidst  tortures  and 
death, — a  virtue,  which,  rather  than  forfeit  its  conscious  in- 
tegrity, could  be  content  to  resign  its  consciousness  forever. 
And  shall  not  the  Christian  blush  to  repine  ?  the  Christian 
from  before  whom  the  veil  is  removed  ?  to  whose  eyes  are 
revealed  the  glories  of  heaven  ?  Your  indulgent  Ruler  doth 
not  call  you  to  run  in  vain,  or  to  labour  in  vain. — Every  dif- 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — '  MOTEMENT.'  221 

ficultj,  and  every  trial,  that  occurs  in  your  path,  is  a  fresh 
opportunity  presented  by  his  kindness,  of  improving  the  hap- 
piness after  which  he  hath  taught  you  to  aspire.  By  every 
hardship  which  you  sustain  in  the  wilderness,  you  secure  an 
additional  portion  of  the  promised  land.  What  though  the 
combat  be  severe  ?  A  kingdom,  an  everlasting  kingdom  is 
the  prize  of  victory.  Look  forward  to  the  triumph  which 
awaits  you,  and  your  courage  will  revive. — Fight  the  good 
fight,  finish  your  course,  keep  the  faith  :  there  is  laid  up  for 
you  a  crown  of  righteousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  righteous 
Judge,  shall  give  unto  you  at  that  day.  What  though,  in  the 
navigation  of  life,  you  have  sometimes  to  encounter  the  war 
of  elements  ?  What  though  the  winds  rage,  though  the  wa- 
ters roar,  and  danger  threatens  around  ?  Behold  at  a  dis- 
tance the  mountains  appear. — Your  friends  are  impatient  for 
your  arrival ;  already  the  feast  is  prepared ;  and  the  rage  of 
the  storm  shall  serve  only  to  waft  you  sooner  to  the  haven 
of  rest. — No  tempests  assail  those  blissful  regions  which  ap- 
proach to  view, — all  is  peaceful  and  serene ; — there  you  shall 
enjoy  eternal  comfort ;  and  the  recollection  of  the  hardships 
which  you  now  encounter,  shall  heighten  the  felicity  of  better 
days.' 

Joy.      • 
The  Happiness  of  those  who  have  extended  Human  Knowledge. — ^Brougham. 

*  The  more  widely  knowledge  is  spread,  the  more  will  they 
be  prized  whose  happy  lot  it  is  to  extend  its  bounds  by  dis- 
covering new  truths,  or  multiply  its  uses  by  inventing  new 
modes  of  applying  it  in  practice.  Their  numbers  will,  indeed, 
be  increased.  But  the  order  of  discoverers  and  inventors 
will  still  be  a  select  few ;  and  the  only  material  variation  in 
their  proportion  to  the  bulk  of  mankind  will  be,  that  the  mass 
of  the  ignorant  multitude  being  progressively  diminished,  the 
body  of  those  will  be  incalculably  increased,  who  are  worthy 
to  admire  genius,  and  able  to  bestow  upon  its  possessors  an 
immortal  fame. 

'  And  if  the  benefactors  of  mankind,  when  they  rest  from 
19* 


222  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

their  pious  labours,  shall  be  permitted  to  enjoy  hereafter,  as 
an  appropriate  reward  of  their  virtue,  the  privilege  of  looking 
-down  upon  the  blessings  with  w'hich  their  toils  and  suflferings 
have  clothed  the  scene  of  their  former  existence ;  do  not  vain- 
ly imagine  that,  in  a  state  of  exalted  purity  and  wisdom,  the 
founders  of  mighty  dynasties,  the  conquerors  of  new  empires, 
<or  the  more  vulgar  crowd  of  evil-doers,  who  have  sacrificed 
to  their  own  aggrandizement  the  good  of  their  fellow-creatures, 
-will  be  gratified  by  contemplating  the  monuments  of  their  in- 
glorious fame  :  theirs  will  be  the  delight, — theirs  the  triumph, 
— who  can  trace  the  remote  effects  of  their  enlightened  bene- 
Tolence  in  the  improved  condition  of  their  species,  and  exult 
in  the  reflection,  that  the  prodigious  changes  they  now  survey, 
with  eyes  that  age  and  sorrow  can  make  dim  no  more, — of 
•knowledge  become  power,  virtue  sharing  in  the  dominion, 
•superstition  trampled  under  foot,  tyranny  driven  from  the 
world, — are  the  fruits, — precious  though  costly,  and  though 
late  reaped,  yet  long  enduring, — of  all  the  hardships  and  all 
the  hazards  they  encountered  here  below  !' 

Vivid  Personification. 
Happiness. — Colton. 
<■  She  is  deceitful  as  the  calm  that  precedes  the  hurricane, 
smooth  as  the  water  on  the  verge  of  the  cataract,  and  beauti- 
ful as  the  rainbow,  that  smiling  daughter  of  the  storm;  but, 
like  the  mirage  in  the  desert,  she  tantalizes  us  with  a  delu- 
.sion  that  distance  creates,  and  that  contiguity  destroys.  Yet, 
when  unsought,  she  is  often  found,  and  when  unexpected,, 
often  obtained  ;  while  those  who  seek  for  her  the  most  dili- 
gently, fail  the  most,  because  they  seek  her  where  she  is  not. 
Anthony  sought  her  in  love ;  Brutus,  in  glory ;  Caesar,  in 
dominion ; — the  first  found  disgrace,  the  second  disgust,  the 
last  ingratitude,  and  each  destruction.  To  some  she  is  more 
kind,  but  not  less  cruel ;  she  hands  them  her  cup  ;  and  they 
drink  even  to  stupefaction,  until  they  doubt  whether  they  are 
men,  with  Philip,  or  dream  that  they  are  gods,  with  Alexan- 
der.    On  some  she  smiles,  as  on  Napoleon,  with  an  aspect 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  MOVEIIENT.'  223 

more  bewitching  than  an  Italian  sun  ;  but  it  is  only  to  make 
her  frown  the  more  terrible,  and  by  one  short  caress  to  em- 
bitter the  pangs  of  separation.  Yet  is  she,  by  universal 
homage  and  consent,  a  queen ;  and  the  passions  are  the  vas- 
sal lords  that  crowd  her  court,  await  her  mandate,  and  move 
at  her  control.  But,  like  other  mighty  sovereigns,  she  is  so 
surrounded  by  her  envoys,  her  officers,  and  her  ministers  of 
state,  that  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  be  admitted  to  her  pre- 
sence chamber,  or  to  have  any  immediate  communication  with 
herself.  Ambition,  Avarice,  Love,  Revenge,  all  these  seek 
her,  and  her  alone ;  alas !  they  are  neither  presented  to  her, 
nor  will  she  come  to  them.  She  despatches,  however,  her 
envoys  unto  them, — mean  and  poor  representatives  of  their 
queen.  To  Ambition,  she  sends  Power ;  to  Avarice,  Wealth ; 
to  Love,  Jealousy ;  to  Revenge,  Remorse :  alas !  what  are 
these,  but  so  many  other  names  for  vexation  or  disappoint- 
ment ?  Neither  is  she  to  be  won  by  flatteries  or  by  bribes  : 
she  is  to  be  gained  by  waging  war  against  her  enemies,  much 
sooner  than  by  paying  any  particular  court  to  herself  Those 
tliat  conquer  her  adversaries,  will  find  that  they  need  not  go 
to  her,  for  she  will  come  unto  them.  None  bid  so  high  for 
her  as  kings ;  few  are  more  willing,  none  more  able,  to  pur- 
chase her  alliance  at  the  fullest  price.  But  she  has  no  more 
respect  for  kings  than  for  their  subjects ;  she  mocks  them,  in- 
deed, with  the  empty  show  of  a  visit,  by  sending  to  their  pal- 
aces all  her  equipage,  her  pomp,  and  her  train  ;  but  she  comes 
not  herself.  What  detains  her  ?  She  is  traveUing  incognita 
to  keep  a  private  appointment  with  Contentment,  and  to  par- 
take of  a  dinner  of  herbs  in  a  cottage.' 

Graphic  Conversational  Description. 
Rebuke  of  Flippancy. — Cumberland. 
*  Hear  the  crude  opinions  that  are  let  loose  upon  society  in 
our  table  conversations  ;  mark  the  wild  and  wandering  argu- 
ments that  are  launched  at  random,  without  ever  hitting  the 
mark  they  should  be  levelled  at :  what  does  all  this  noise  and 
nonsense  prove,  but  that  the  talker  has  indeed  acquired  the 


224  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

fluency  of  words,  but  never  known  the  exercise  of  thought, 
or  attended  to  the  development  of  a  single  proposition  ?  Tell 
him  that  he  ought  to  hear  what  may  be  said  on  the  other  side 
of  the  question — he  agrees  to  it,  and  either  begs  leave  to 
wind  up  with  a  few  words  more,  which  he  winds  and  wire- 
draws without  end ;  or,  having  paused  to  hear,  hears  with 
impatience  a  very  little,  foreknows  everything  you  had  fur- 
ther to  say,  cuts  short  your  argument,  and  bolts  in  upon  you 
with — an  answer  to  that  argument —  ?  No  ;  with  a  continu- 
ation of  his  own  babble  ;  and,  having  stifled  you  with  the  tor- 
rent of  his  talk,  places  your  contempt  to  the  credit  of  his  own 
capacity,  and  foohshly  conceives  he  speaks  with  reason,  be- 
cause he  has  not  patience  to  attend  to  any  reasoning  but  his 
own. 

'  There  are  also  others,  whose  vivacity  of  imagination  has 
never  felt  the  trammels  of  a  syllogism. 

*  To  attempt  at  hedging  in  these  sciolists,  is  but  lost  labour. 
These  talkers  are  very  entertaining,  as  long  as  novelties  with 
no  meaning  can  entertain  you  ;  they  have  a  great  variety  of 
opinions,  which,  if  you  oppose,  they  do  not  defend,  and  if  you 
agree  with,  they  desert.  Their  talk  is  like  the  wild  notes  of 
birds,  amongst  which  you  shall  distinguish  some  of  pleasant 
tone,  but  out  of  which  you  compose  no  tune  or  harmony  of 
song.  These  men  would  have  set  down  Archimedes  for  a 
fool,  when  he  danced  for  joy  at  the  solution  of  a  proposition, 
and  mistaken  Newton  for  a  madman,  when,  in  the  surplice 
which  he  put  on  for  chapel  over  night,  he  was  found  the  next 
morning,  in  the  same  place  and  posture,  fixed  in  profound 
meditation  on  his  theory  of  the  prismatic  colours.  So  great 
is  their  distate  for  demonstration,  they  think  no  truth  is  worth 
the  waiting  for :  the  mountain  must  come  to  them  :  they  are 
not  by  half  so  complaisant  as  Mohammed.  They  are  not  easily 
reconciled  to  truisms,  but  have  no  particular  objection  to  im- 
possibilities. For  argument  they  have  no  ear ;  it  does  not 
touch  them  ;  it  fetters  fancy,  and  dulls  the  edge  of  repartee. 
If  by  chance  they  find  themselves  in  an  untenable  position, 
and  wit  is  not  at  hand  to  help  them  out  of  it,  they  will  take 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  RHYTHM.*  225 

up  with  a  pun,  and  ride  home  upon  a  horse  laugh  :  if  they 
cannot  keep  their  ground,  they  will  not  wait  to  be  attacked 
and  driven  out  of  it.  Whilst  a  reasoning  man  will  be 
picking  his  way  out  of  a  dilemma,  they,  who  never  reason  at 
all,  jump  over  it,  and  land  themselves  at  once  upon  new 
ground,  where  they  take  an  imposing  attitude,  and  escape 
pursuit.  Whatever  these  men  do,  whether  they  talk,  or  write, 
or  act,  it  is  without  deliberation,  without  consistency,  without 
plan.  Having  no  expanse  of  mind,  they  can  comprehend 
only  in  part ;  they  will  promise  an  epic  poem,  and  produce 
an  epigram.  In  short  they  glitter,  pass  away,  and  are  forgot- 
ten ;  their  outset  makes  a  show  of  mighty  things  ;  they  stray 
out  of  their  course  into  byways  and  obliquities ;  and,  when 
out  of  sight  of  their  contemporaries,  are  for  ever  lost  to  pos- 
terity.' 

EXERCISES  IN  'RHYTHM.'* 

'  Rhythm'  is,  in  elocution,  the  result  of  that  regular  and 
symmetrical  movement  of  the  voice,  which  is  caused  by  the 
comparatively  measured  style  of  rhetorical  composition.  It 
implies,  also,  a  just  observance  of  those  pauses,  whether  mark- 
ed in  the  punctuation  or  not,  which  the  sense  of  a  passage 
demands  ;  and  these  pauses  thus  become,  like  rests  in  music, 
portions  of  the  measure  and  rhythm.  It  is  this  last  mention- 
ed effect  which  renders  rhythm  so  important  to  an  easy,  fluent, 
and  natural  use  of  the  voice,  in  reading  and  speaking ;  sug- 
gesting the  practice  of  frequent,  slight,  but  well-timed  breath- 
ing, instead  of  the  common  faulty  mode  of  drawing  breath  at 
distant  and  irregular  intervals,  and  with  painful  effort.  The 
former  of  these  habits  renders  public  reading  and  speaking 
easy,  even  to  persons  of  feeble  health ;  the  latter  wears  away 
the  organic  strength  of  the  most  vigorous.     The  former  mode 

*  The  word  '  rhythm'  is  used,  in  elocution,  to  designate  that  regulated 
movement  of  voice,  which  exists,  in  its  fully  marked  form,  in  the  com- 
bined effect  of  the  metre  and  pauses  of  verse,  hut  which  belongs,  in  de- 
gree, to  all  well-"\vritten  and  well-spoken  language,  in  prose, — in  the 
forms,  particularly,  of  declamation  and  discourse. 


226  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

preserves  the  smooth,  even  flow  of  voice  ;  the  latter  breaks 
the  continuity  both  of  sound  and  sense. 

Rhythm  is,  in  detail,  the  regular  recurrence  of  accent,  at 
definite  and  measured  intervals,  and  may  be  beat  and  marked 
as  strictly  as  in  music,  if  attention  is  paid  to  the  suspensions 
of  sound  by  pauses,  so  as  to  include  them,  as  well  as  the  actual 
sounds  of  the  voice,  between  the  beats,  as  in  the  bars  of  mu- 
sic. Every  accented  syllable  is,  in  elocution,  equivalent  to 
the  beginning  of  a  bar  in  music,  and  may  be  so  marked ; 
thus,  I  Muse  I  music  \  musical  \  un-  \  musical  |  ;  or,  if  read 
with  pauses  |  Muse  | ,  |  or  |  ^^  |  mu^ic  | ,  |  or  |  ^^  |  musical  \ ,  | 
or  I  iii  ^  I  ^  un-  \  musical  \  .* 

The  subjoined  exercises  should  be  practised  with  the  aid, 
at  first,  of  beating  time  at  the  commencement  of  every  bar, 
as  in  music.  The  rhythm  should  be,  for  some  time,  marked 
quite  strongly  with  the  voice  ;  the  beat  and  the  decided  mark- 
ing may  be  gradually  laid  aside,  as  the  ear  becomes  compe- 
tent to  direct  itself.  But  the  actual  time  should  never  cease 
to  be  carefully  observed  in  reading,  speaking,  and  reciting, 
any  more  than  in  music  itself.  The  fact,  however,  should 
never  be  forgotten,  that  an  habitual  strong  marking  of  rhythm, 
is  the  same  fault  in  elocution  as  in  music.  It  protrudes  what 
should  be  a  barely  perceptible  property,  and  turns  an  excel- 
lence into  a  defect.  A  delicate  marking  of  rhythm,  is  a  gen- 
uine grace  of  cultivated  elocution,  in  the  reading  of  verse,  and 
in  the  language  of  oratory  or  of  sentiment.  The  great  object 
of  practice,  as  regards  'time,'  is  truth,  not  force. 

The  student  of  elocution  would  do  well  to  score  numerous 
passages,  for  himself,  in  the  manner  exemplified  as  follows. 

*  Every  accented  monosyllable,  in  elocutionary  rhythm,  constitutes  a 
bar ;  all  the  unaccented  syllables,  in  a  polysyllable,  are  grouped  in  the 
same  bar,  with  the  accented  syllable.  The  rule  for  marking  is  simply, 
Place  a  bar  before  every  accented  syllable,  wherever  found,  and  before 
every  pause. — One  or  more  unaccented  syllables  are  sometimes  grouped 
into  the  same  bar  'svith  a  pause.  For  the  convenience  of  marking,  a  bar 
is  assumed  as  composed  of  one  quarter  or  two  eighth  notes. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  RHYTHM.*  227 

Verse,  or  Metrical  Accent. 

Iambic  Metre. 
Blank  Verse. 

*  I  5^ '  Be  I  wise  |  i?]  to-  ]  day  |  ;  |  ii^  Wj  |  SJj  'tis  |  madness  |  ^  to  de-  | 

fer  I  ;  1  5^^  I 
I  Next  I  day  |  wj  the  |  fatal  |  precedent  |  ^  will  [  plead  |  ;  |  ^  Wj  | 
I  Thus  I  on  I,  I  Wj  till  |  wisdom  |  ^  is  |  pushed  |  out  of  |  lifei.lwj^  l"^*^] 
Ij^Pro-  I  crasti-  |  naftion  |  wj  is  the  |  thief  |  wjof  |  time  |  .  |  i^wj  |  i^iSjl 
I  Year  after  |  year  |  wj  it  |  steals  |  ,  |  ^  till  |  all  |  W|  are  |  fled  |  ,  | 
1 5*1  And  to  the  |  mercies  of  a  |  moment  |  ^  ^  |  leaves  | 
I^The  I  vast  con-|  cems  |  Wj  of  an  e-  |  ternal  |  scene  l.'IWj^lwjiii  l^^I 

Heroic  Couplets. 
I 'Hope  1  ^^  I  springs  e-  |  ternal  |  wj  in  the  |  human  |  breast  1;|  Wjwj  | 
iMan  I  wj^  I  never  |  is  |  ^but  |  always  |  ^to  |  be  |  blest |:|^wjlwjwi| 
I  wj  The  I  soul  I  ,  I  >Si  un-  |  easy  |  ^  and  con-  |  fined  from  |  home  |  ,  ] 
I  Bests  I  wj  and  ex-  |  patiates  |  ^  in  a  |  life  |  wj  to  |  come.' 

Octosyllabic  Couplets. 
I  Wj '  There's  |  nothing  |  bright  |  ,  |  ii^  a-  |  bove  | ,  |  ^  be-  |  low  | ,  |  ^iSj  | 
I  ^  From  I  flowers  1  Wj  that  |  bloom  |  ^  to  ]  stars  |  ^  that  \  glow  1 , 1"«^  '^  I 
I  But  in  its  [  light  |  ^  my  |  soul  j  ^  can  |  see  | 
1  wj  Some  I  feature  i  ^  of  |  thy  |  Deity  |!'|ii^wj|%^^|wj^| 

Octosyllabic  Quatrian  Stanza  {Long  Metre). 
I '  Dear  |  ^  is  the  |  hallowed  |  morn  |  %^  to  [  me  |  ,  | 

I  ^  When  I  village  |  bells  |  ^isj  a-  |  wake  the  |  day  |  ;  |  iSj  ^  |  ^ 

I  wj  And  I  ^  by  their  |  sacred  |  minstrelsy  |  ,  | 

I  Call  me  |  ^  from  |  earthly  ]  cares  |  *?j  a-  |  way.' 

Common  Metre  Stanza. 
I  ^ '  Like  1  children  |  ^  for  some  |  bauble  |  fair 

I  ^  That  I  weep  them-  |  selves  to  |  rest  |  ;  |  wj  i^j  | 
I  ^  We  I  part  with  |  life  |  —  ]  i^^  I  ^  a-  |  wake  | !  |  ;;?j^  |  wj and  | 
there 
(  ^  The  I  jewel  ]  —  I  ^  "^  I  ^  in  our  |  breast !' 

^  The  rests  are  usually  '  rhetorical'  pauses,  or  prolongations  added  to 
the  grammatical  pauses  indicated  by  the  punctuation.  The  initial  rest 
represents  the  slight  interval  between  the  first  bar  and  the  preceding  ut- 
terance, whatever  that  may  be. 

t  The  half  accent  in  polysyllables,  is  counted  in  rhythm  as  the  equiva- 
lent of  a  full  accent. 


228  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Short  Metre  Stanza. 
I  '  Sweet  I  ^  at  the  |  dawning  |  light  |  ,  | 
I  ^  Thy  I  boundless  |  love  |  ^  to  |  tell  h  |  Wj  Wj 
I  And  when  ap-  |  proach  |  ^  the  |  shades  of  |  night  |  ,  | 
I  StUl  I  iq  on  the  |  theme  to  |  dweU !' 

Trochaic  Measure. 
1  '  Now  be-  I  gin  the  |  heavenly  |  theme  [  ,  | 
I  Sing  of  I  mercy's  |  healing  |  stream  |  :  |  ^  ^  |  Wj  wj 
I  Ye  I  ,  I  i^  who  I  Jesus'  |  kindness  |  prove  |  ,  | 
j  Sing  of  I  his  re-  |  deeming  love  \V  \^^\^^\^^\ 

I  '  Teach  me  |  some  me-  |  lodious  ]  measure  |  ,  | 

I  Sung  1  ^  by  I  raptured  |  saints  ^  |  i^  a-  J  hove ; 
I  Fill  my  |  soul  |  wj  with  |  sacred  |  pleasure  |  ,  | 
I  ^  While  I  I  sing  re-  |  deeming  |  love !' 

Anapcestic  Measure. 
I  ^ '  Ke-  I  ligion  I  !  |  Wj  what  |  treasure  |  ^  un-  |  told 

I  ^  Re-  I  sides  |  ^  in  that  |  heavenly  |  word  ]  !  |  ^  ^  | 
I  p  More  I  precious  j  ^  than  |  silver  |  ^  and  |  gold  |  ,  | 

I  ^  Or  I  all  I  ^  that  this  |  earth  |  ^  can  af-  |  ford  !'* 

Prose  Rhythm. 
Extract  from  Psalm  XXXIII. 
V.  1.  *Re-  I  joice  in  the  |  Lord  |  ,  |  0  ye  |  righteous  |  :  | 
^  ^  I  wj  ^  I  ^  for  I  praise  |  ^  is  |  comely  |  ^  for  the  up-  | 
right  I .  I  ^  ^  I  ^  ^  I  2. 1  Praise  the  |  Lord  |  ^i  with  |  harp  | : 
I  %;^  %^  I  ^  ^  I  sing  unto  him  |  ^  with  the  |  psaltery  |  ^  and 
an  I  instrument  of  |  ten  |  strings  |.|i?i^|^^|^;si|3.  Sing 
unto  him  a  |  new  |  song  |  ;  |  ^  ^^i  |  ii  and  |  play  |  skilfully  | 
wj  with  a  I  loud  |  noise  |  .  |  ^  i^  |  ^  ^,  |  ^  ^  |  4.  |  ^  For  the  | 
word  of  the  |  Lord  |  ^  is  |  right  |  ;  |  wj  ^  |  and  |  all  his  | 
works  I  ^  are  I  done  |  ^  in  truth  |.|i^^|  ^^|  isi^|5.  pHe 

*  From  the  analysis  which  has  been  given  of  rhythm,  in  conjunction 
with  metrical  accent  in  its  principal  forms,  it  may  be  perceived  that,  in 
reading,  the  prosodial  grouping  of  syllables  is  subordinate — not  predom- 
inant— in  the  audible  effect.  The  common  fault  in  reading  verse  is 
caused  by  inverting  this  rule ;  and,  when  to  this  defect  is  added  that  of 
omitting  the  rhythmical  pauses,  nothing  is  left  to  the  ear  but  the  mere 
jingle  of  the  scanning. 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. ^RHYTHM.'  229 

I  loveth  I  righteousness  |  ^  and  |  judgment  |  :  |  i^  ^  |  i^  ^  | 
^  the  I  earth  |  ^i  is  |  full  |  ^  of  the  |  goodness  )  wj  of  the  [• 
Lord  I  .|^i^|  wj^l  ^wi|  6.  ^  By  the  |  word  of  the  |  Lord  | 
^  were  the  |  heavens  |  made  |  ;  |  i^  ^  |  ^  and  |  all  the  |  host 
of  them  I  ^  by  the  |  breath  of  his  |  mouth  |  .|  ^i^|wj^|^i^|^, 
7.  ^  He  I  gathereth  the  |  waters  of  the  |  sea  |  ^  to-  |  gether  |i 
^  as  a  I  heap  |  :  |  ^  ^  |  ^^  ^  |  wj  he  |  layeth  up  the  |  depth  |) 
wj  in  I  store-houses  |.|^i^|ii^|^i^I8.  |i^  Let  1  all  the^ 
earth  |  fear  the  |  Lord  |  :  |  ^-i  ^^  |  ^  ^  |  ^  let  |  all  the  in-  |. 
habitants  of  the  |  world  |  ^  stand  in  |  awe  of  him  |  .  |  ^i  ^  [s 
^  '^  I  *^  ^  I  9.  I  i^  For  he  |  spake  |  ^  and  it  was  |  done  | ;  |  ^  iSi  [: 
^  he  com- 1  manded  |  wj  and  it  |  stood  |  fast  |  .*  |  ^sj  i^j  |  ^  ^  |isji5|  [. 

Didactic  Style. 

Reflections  in  Westminster  Abbey. — Addison. 

I  ^  *  Though  I  am  |  always  |  serious  | ,  |  ^  I  do  not  |  know 
what  it  I  is  I  ^  to  be  ]  melancholy  |  ;  |  ^  ^  |  ^  and  can  |  there- 
fore I  take  a  |  view  of  |  Nature  |  h  in  her  |  deep  |  ^  and  | 
solemn  |  scenes  |  ,  |  ^  with  the  |  same  |  pleasure  |  ^  as  ia 
her  I  most  |  gay  |  ^  and  de-  |  lightful  ones  | .  |  iii^  |  i^  ^i  |  ^^  [ 
wj  By  I  this  I  means  |  ^  I  can  im-  |  prove  myself  |  ^  with  \ 
those  I  objects  |  ^  which  |  others  |  ^  con-  |  sider  with  |  ter- 
ror | .  |  ^  ^  |  ^  ^  |  ^  wj  |  ^  When  I  I  look  upon  the  |  tombs  of 
the  I  great  |  ,  |  every  e-  |  motion  of  |  envy  |  ^  dies  in  me  | ;  | 
^  ^  I  i^  when  I  I  read  the  |  epitaphs  |  ^  of  the  |  beautiful  | ,  j 
every  in-  |  ordinate  de-  |  sire  |  ^  goes  |  out  | ;  |  ^  ;si  |  wj  whea 

I I  meet  with  the  |  grief  of  |  parents  |  ^  upon  a  |  tomb-stone  | ,  | 
^  my  I  heart  |  ^  ^  |  melts  |  ^  with  com-  |  passion  | ;  |  i^  ^  j; 
wj  when  1 1  see  the  ]  tomb  of  the  |  parents  |  ^  them- 1  selves  | ,  [. 
Wj  I  con-  I  sider  the  |  vanity  of  |  grieving  |  ^  for  |  those  |  ^*i  |; 
whom  we  must  |  quickly  |  follow  |:  |^i^|^^|^^|i?i  whea 
I  I  see  I  kings  |  ^  ^  |  lying  by  |  those  who  de- 1  posed  them  | ,  | 
^  when  I  con-  |  sider  |  rival  |  wits  |  ,  |  placed  [  ^  ^  |  side 
by  1  side  |  ,  |  ^  or  the  |  holy  |  men  |  ^  that  di-  |  vided  the  | 
world  I  ^  with  their  |  contests  |  ^  and  dis-  |  putes  |  ^^  I  re- 1 
fleet  I  ^  with  I  sorrow  |  ^  and  as-  |  tonishment  |  ,  |  ^  oa 

20 


230  PULPIT  ELOCUTION.        - 

the  I  little  |  ^  compe-  |  titions  |  ,  |  factions  |  ,  t  ^  and  de- 
bates I  ^  of  man-  |  kind  [.|^i^|wiwi|i;j^|i;^  When  I  | 
read  the  |  several  |  dates  of  the  |  tombs  |  ,  |  ^^  of  |  some  |  h 
that  I  died  |  yesterday  |  ,  |  ^  and  |  some  |  ^  ^  |  six  |  hun- 
dred I  years  a-  |  go  |  ,  |  i^  I  con-  |  sider  |  that  |  great  |  day  | 
^  when  we  shall  |  ^s^  ^  |  all  of  us  |  wj  %;ii  |  ^  be  con-  |  tempo- 
raries I  J  I  *^  and  I  make  our  ap-  |  pearance  to-  ]  gether.' 

Oratorical  Apostrophe. 
Anticipat  ion. — Webs  ter . 

I  *  They  |  ^  are  in  the  |  distant  |  regions  |  ^  of  fu-  |  turi- 
ty  I  ,  I  —  I  they  |  ^  ex-  |  ist  |  ^  ^  |  only  in  the  ]  all-cre-  | 
ating  I  power  |  ^  of  |  God  |  ,  |  —  \^  who  shall  |  stand  | 
here  | ,  |  ^  a  |  hundred  |  years  |  hence  |  ,  |  ^^^  to  |  trace  |  ,  | 
^  through  I  us  I  ,  I  ^  their  de-  |  scent  from  the  |  Pilgrims  |  ,  | 
^  and  to  sur-  |  vey  |  ,  |  ^  as  |  we  have  |  now  sur-  |  veyed  |  ,  | 
^  the  I  progress  of  their  |  country  |  ,  |  during  the  |  lapse  of 
a  I  century  |.'|vijiSi|^^|^^|^«On  the  |  morning  of  | 
that  I  day  |  ,  |  ^  al-  |  though  it  |  will  not  dis-  |  turb  |  us  |  ^ 
in  our  re-  |  pose  |  j  |  '^  the  |  voice  |  ^  of  |  accla-  |  mation  | 
wj  and  I  gratitude  |  ,  |  *^  com- 1  mencing  |  w,  on  the  |  Rock  |  h 
of  I  Plymouth  | ,  |  ^  shall  be  trans-  |  mitted  |  ^  through  |  mil- 
lions I  ^  of  the  I  sons  |  *i  of  the  |  Pilgrims  |  ,  |  *i  till  it  |  lose 
itself  I  ^  in  the  |  murmur  |  ^  of  the  Pa-  |  cific  |  seas  | .'  |  ^  ^  | 
*1^  I  ^^  I  ^*^  I  *^^  I 

I  ^  *  Ad-  I  vance  |  ,  |  ^  ye  |  future  |  *gener-  |  ations  |  !  | 
^  ^  I  ^  ^  I  <i^  We  would  1  hail  you  |  ,  |  ^  as  you  |  rise  |  ^  in 
your  I  long  sue-  |  cession  |  ,  |  is^  to  |  fill  the  |  places  |  wj  which 
I  we  1  now  I  fill  I  ,  I  wj  and  to  |  taste  the  ]  blessings  |  ^  of  ex-  | 
istence  |  ,  |  ^  where  |  we  |  ^  are  |  passing  |  ,  ]  ^  and  |  soon  | 
^  shall  have  |  passed  |  ,  |  *^  our  |  human  du-  |  ration  | .  |  ^  s^  | 
w|  %^  I  ^  ^  I  ^  We  I  bid  you  |  welcome  |  ^  to  |  this  |  pleasant  | 
land  I  ^  of  the  |  Father&  | .  |  wj  ^sj  |  iSj  s^  |  wj  We  |  bid  you  |  wel- 

*  The  initial  half  accent,  in  words  analogous  to  the  above,  is  assumed 
as  the  equivalent  of  a  full  accent ; — the  time  of  half  accent  being  equal  to 
that  of  accent,  although  the  force  is  not. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — EMPHASIS.  231 

come  I  ^  to  the  |  healthful  |  skies  |  ,  |  ^  and  the  |  verdant  | 
fields  I  ^  of  I  New  England  |  .  |  iii  ^  I  ^  ^  I  ^  ^®  I  S^^^* 
your  ac-  |  cession  |  ^  to  the  |  great  in-  |  heritance  |  ^  which  | 
we  I  ^  have  en-  |  joyed  |  .  |  ^  i^  |  ^  i^  |  i^  We  |  welcome  you  | 
*H  to  the  I  blessings  |  ^  of  |  good  |  government  [  ^  and  re-  | 
ligious  I  hberty  I  .  |  i^j  wj  |  ^  i^  |  ^  We  |  welcome  you  |  ^  to 
the  I  treasures  of  |  science  |  ,  |  and  the  de-  |  lights  of  |  learn- 
ing I  .  I  ^  ^  I  ^  ^  I  ^  We  I  welcome  you  |  ^  to  the  tran-  | 
scendant  \  sweets  |  ^  of  do-  |  mestic  |  life  | ,  |  ^  to  the  |  hap- 
piness I  i^  of  I  kindred  |  ,  |  ^  and  |  parents  |  ,  |  ^  and  |  chil- 
dren I  .  I  wj  ^  I  iii  ^  I  wj  We  I  welcome  you  |  ^  to  the  im-  | 
measurable  |  blessings  |  ^  of  |  rational  ex- 1  istence  |  ,  |  ^  the 
im-  I  mortal  |  hope  |  wj  of  Christi-  |  anity  | ,  |  ^  and  the  | 
light  I  *i?i  of  I  ever-  |  lasting  |  Truth  |!'   |iijWi|^v^|wiWi| 


EXERCISES  IN  EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis,  as  properly  defined  by  Dr.  Rush,  in  his  Philoso- 
phy of  the  Voice,  and,  indeed,  as  is  implied  in  the  very  ety- 
mology of  the  term,  is  not  a  mere  comparative  force  of  accent 
only,  but  a  concentration  of  several  or  of  many  expressive  ele- 
ments of  vocal  sound,  upon  one  element  or  syllable.  The 
comparative  force  does,  no  doubt,  exist ;  but  its  use  is  to  im- 
body  and  impress  the  effect  of  the  rest.  Thus,  if  we  select, 
as  an  example,  the  reply  of  Death  to  Satan,  *  Back  to  thy 
punishment  /  false  fugitive,'  we  shall  find  that  the  first  of  the 
emphatic  words,  while  it  is  intensely  forcible,  derives  much 

*  True  rhythm  extends  itself  not  only  from  clause  to  clause,  but  from 
sentence  to  sentence,  and  from  paragraph  to  paragraph,  and  even  to  the 
long  quadruple  pause  which  follows  the  close  of  a  piece  or  discourse. 
One  of  the  faults  in  elocution  by  which  the  pulpit  is  sometimes  degraded, 
is  the  business-like  dispatch  with  which  the  minister  passes  from  the  last 
word  of  his  sermon  to  the  formula  that  follows, — as  if  his  purpose  were 
to  obliterate,  as  quickly  as  possible,  the  effect  of  his  discourse.  —  Para- 
graph pauses  are  usually  double  the  length  of  those  of  periods.  Double 
paragraph  pauses  are  the  proper  distinctions  of  the  heads  of  discourse ; 
and  these  ought  to  be  doubled,  if  xeferred  to  as  a  definite  measure. 


232  i    .    :  Pulpit  elocution. 

of  its  effect  from  *  explosive'  utterance  and  *  radical  stress/ 
from  <  aspirated  pectoral  and  guttural  quality/  from  *low 
pitch/  *  falling  inflection/  or  '  downward  slide/  and  *  rapid 
movement/  or  '  brief  time  /  and  that  if  we  subtract  some 
or  even  any  one  of  these  properties,  the  exclamation  sounds 
as  if  divested,  more  or  less,  of  emphasis. 

Emphasis  may  be  regarded  as  classed  under  the  following 
designations :  '  impassioned/  or  '  absolute,'  as  in  the  above 
example, — '  unimpassioned'  or  *  intellectual/  as  in  *  designa- 
tion,* 'distinction,'  or  'discrimination,'  'correspondence/ 
'contrast/  and  'preference,'  or  'choice.' 

Examples, 
Impassioned  Emphasis. 

*  TFo  is  me !   for  I  dwell  among  a  people  of  unclean  lips.' 

'  Grace  I   'tis  a  charming  sound' — 

*  In  the  day  that  thou  eatest  thereof,  thou  shalt  surely  die,* 

Unimpassioned  Emphasis. 

Designation.  '  The  supreme  love  of  God  is  the  duty  en- 
joined in  the  text.' 

Contrast  '  The  former  is  a  blind  and  noisy  applause, — 
the  latter,  a  more  silent  and  internal  homage.' 

Correspondence.  *  As  ye  sow,  so  shall  ye  reap*  '  As  the 
hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after 
thee,  O  God !' 

Preference.  '  Better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs,  where  love  is, 
than  a  stalled  ox,  and  hatred  therewith.'! 

EXEKCISES  IN  'EXPRESSION.' 

*  Expression,'  in  elocution,  as  in  music,  is  the  term  used 

*  Additional  examples,  in  large  numbers,  may  be  selected  from  any 
or  all  of  the  preceding  exercises  which  express  strong  emotion. 

t  More  examples  may  be  found  for  practice,  in  the  exercises  on  '  in- 
flection.' The  emphasis  will,  in  these  cases,  be  found  coincident  with  the 
accent  indicating  the  slides  of  the  voice. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  EXPRESSION.'  233 

to  indicate  the  effect  o^  feeling,  in  utterance.  Thus,  the 
learner  enunciates  words  without  *  expression,'  when  endeav- 
ouring to  read,  and  still  labouring  under  the  difficulty  of  com- 
bining the  sounds  of  syllables  :  the  finished  reader  gives  *  ex- 
pression,' or  throws  feeling  into  what  he  reads.  *  Expression,' 
therefore,  in  elocution,  implies  the  utterance  of  emotion  in  all 
its  characteristic  properties  of   Equality'  of    voice,  *  force,' 

*  stress,'  ^  pitch,'  '  inflection,'  *  melody,'  *  movement,'  *  time,' 
—  or  *  quantity,'   *  rhythm,'    and   *  pause,' — *  emphasis.' 

When  *  expression'  is  regarded  in  consecutive  passages,  it 
is  termed  *  variation,'  or,  arbitrarily, — but  not  correctly, — 

*  modulation.'* 

The  following  exercises  should  be  assiduously  practised,  till 
every  property  of  utterance,  mentioned  in  each  designation,  is 
combined,  in  full  effect,  on  its  example. 

Awe. 

*  Pectoral  Quality,'  '  Aspirated'  Utterance,!  '  Suppressed'  Force,  '  Me- 

dian Stress,'  '  Lowest'  Pitch,  '  Monotone,'  *  Slowest  Movement,'  Long 
Pauses. 

Stanza. — Translated  by  Bowiing. 

*  Thou  breathest ; — and  the  obedient  storm  is  still : 

Thou  speakest ; — silent  the  submissive  wave  : 
Man's  shattered  ship  the  rushing  waters  fill. 

And  the  hushed  billows  roll  across  his  grave  \ 
Sourceless  and  endless  God !  compared  with  Th6e, 

Life  is  a  shadowy,  momentary  dream : 
And  time  when  viewed  through  thy  eternity. 

Less  than  the  mote  of  morning's  golden  beam !' 

*  The  terms  '  key'  and  '  modulation,'  though  in  frequent  use  with  ref- 
erence to  elocution,  belong  exclusively  to  music ;  as  there  are  no  corre- 
spondent facts,  in  speech  and  reading,  to  those  which  justify  these  desig- 
nations in  music.     See  Dr.  Kush^s  just  observations  on  this  point. 

t  The  deep  resonance  of  the  voice  in  the  chest,  and  an  '  impure'  or 
breathing  quality  of  voice,  in  which  we  hear  the  whispering  eifect  of  the 
breath  mingUng,  more  or  less,  Avith  the  sounds  wliich  are  uttered. 
20* 


234  PULPIT  ELOCUTION.     i**.i4f»atJfiii 


Awe  and  Fear. 

*  Expression'  as  before,  but  with  more  'aspiration,'  and  extremely  low 

note. 

Extract  from  Job  IV. 
V.  13.  *  In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when 
deep  sleep  falleth  on  men,  (14.)  Fear  came  upon  me,  and 
trembling,  which  made  all  my  bones  to  shake.  15.  Then  a 
spirit  passed  before  my  face ;  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up : 
16.  It  stood  still :  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form  thereof: 
an  image  was  before  mine  eyes ;  there  was  silence ;  and  I 
heard  a  voice,  saying,  (17.)  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just 
than  God .''  shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  Maker  ?'* 

Awe^  Solemnity f  and  Tranquillity, 

'  Orotund  and  Pectoral  Quality.' 
Evening  in  the  Grave-yard. — ^Anon. 

*  The  moon  is  up ;  the  evening  star 

Shines  lovely,  from  its  home  of  blue  ; — 
The  fox  howl's  heard  on  the  fell  afar, 

And  the  earth  is  robed  in  a  sombre  hue ; 
From  the  shores  of  light  the  beams  come  down 
On  the  river's  brink  and  cold  grave-stone. 

*  The  kindling  fires  o'er  heaven  so  bright, 

Look  sweetly  out  from  yon  azure  sea  ; 
While  the  glittering  pearls  of  the  dewy  night, 

Seem  trying  to  mimic  their  brilliancy ; — 
Yet  all  these  charms  no  joy  can  bring 
To  the  dead,  in  the  cold  grave  slumbering. 

■*  To  numbers  wild,  yet  sweet  withal. 

Should  the  harp  be  struck  o'er  the  sleepy  pillow ; 

*  For  farther  practice  on  examples  of  aw^e,  selections  may  be  made  from 
previous  exercises  under  the  same  designation  of  emotion. 


ELEMENTARY'  BXeMiSES.^^*^  EXPRE SSION.'  235 

Soft  as  the  murmuring  breezy  fall 

Of  sighing  winds  on  the  foaming  billow ; — 
For  who  would  disturb,  in  their  silent  bed, 
The  fancied  dreams  of  the  lowly  dead  ? 

*  Oh !  is  there  one  in  this  world  can  say 

That  the  soul  exists  not  after  death  ? 
That  the  powers  which  illumine  this  mould  of  clay 

Are  but  a  puff  of  common  breath  ? 
Oh !  come  this  night  to  the  grave,  and  see 
The  sleepy  sloth  of  your  destiny. 

*  The  night's  soft  voice,  in  breathings  low. 

Imparts  a  calm  to  the  breast  of  the  weeper : — 
The  water's  dash  and  murmuring  flow 

No  more  shall  soothe  the  ear  of  the  sleeper, 
Till  He  who  slept  on  Judah's  plains, 
Shall  burst  death's  cold  and  icy  chains. 

*  I've  seen  the  moon  gild  the  mountain's  brow, 

I've  watched  the  mists  o'er  the  river  stealing ; 
But  ne'er  did  I  feel  in  my  breast,  till  now, 

So  deep,  so  calm,  and  so  holy  a  feeling : 
'Tis  soft  as  the  thrill  which  memory  throws 
Athwart  the  soul  in  the  hour  of  repose. 

*  Thou  Father  of  all !  in  the  worlds  of  light, 

Fain  would  my  spirit  aspire  to  Thee  ; 
And,  through  the  scenes  of  this  gentle  night, 

Behold  the  dawn  of  eternity : 
For  this  is  the  path  which  thou  hast  given. 
The  only  path  to  the  bliss  of  heaven.' 

Solemnity  and  Reverence. 

Orotund  Quality,'  '  Subdued'  Force,  '  Median  Stress,'  '  Low'  Pitch, 
Prevalent  '  Monotone,'  '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses. 

Extract  from  the  Forest  Hymn. — Bryant. 
*  Father,  thy  hand 
Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns,  thou 


236  PtJLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze, 
And  shot  towards  heaven.     The  century-living  crow, 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches  ;  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshipper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker. — 

*  Thou  art  here — thou  fiU'st 
The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 
That  run  along  the  summits  of  these  trees 
In  music ;  thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath, 
That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place. 
Comes  scarcely  felt ; — the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 
The  fresh,  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  thee. 
Here  is  continual  worship ; — nature,  here, 
In  the  tranquillity  that  thou  dost  love, 
Enjoys  thy  presence.' 

Praise. 

'  Orotund  Quality,'  Full  Force,  '  Thorough'  and  '  Median  Stress,'  Mod- 
erately Low  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  Moderate  '  Wave,' 
or  '  Monotone,'  Moderately  Slow  '  Movement,'  Moderate  Pauses. 

Psdm  CXLVm. 
V.  1.  Praise  ye  the  Lord.  Praise  ye  the  Lord  from  the 
heavens :  praise  him  in  the  heights.  2.  Praise  ye  him,  all  his 
angels :  praise  ye  him,  all  his  hosts.  3.  Praise  ye  him,  sun 
and  moon :  praise  him,  all  ye  stars  of  light.  4.  Praise  him, 
ye  heavens  of  heavens,  and  ye  waters  that  be  above  the  heav- 
ens. 5.  Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord :  for  he  com- 
manded, and  they  were  created.  6.  He  hath  also  established 
them  for  ever  and  ever :  he  hath  made  a  decree  which  they 
shall  not  pass.  7.  Praise  the  Lord  from  the  earth,  ye  dragons 
and  all  deeps :  (8.)  fire,  and  hail ;  snow,  and  vapour ;  stormy 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. ^EXPRESSION.*  237 

wind,  fulfilling  his  word:  (9.)  mountains,  and  all  hills;  fruit- 
ful trees,  and  all  cedars  :  (10.)  beasts,  and  all  cattle ;  creep- 
ing things,  and  flying  fowls :  (11.)  kings  of  the  earth,  and  all 
people;  princes,  and  all  judges  of  the  earth :  (12.)  both  young 
men,  and  maidens ;  old  men,  and  children.  13.  Let  them 
praise  the  name  of  the  Lord :  for  his  name  alone  is  excellent ; 
his  glory  is  above  the  earth  and  heaven.' 

'  Expression'  as  in  the  preceding  example,  but  with  softer  Force,  greater 
prevalence  of  '  Median  Stress,'  and  slower  '  Movement,'  with  longer 
Pauses. 

Morning  Hymn  in  Paradise. — Milton.  . 
*  Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels,  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 
Circle  his  throne,  rejoicing ;  ye  in  heaven : 
On  earth  join  all  ye  creatures  to  extol 
Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  morn 
With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  him  in  thy  sphere, 
While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 
Thou  sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul, 
Acknowledge  him  thy  greater ;  sound  his  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb'st. 
And  when  high  noon  hast  gained,  and  when  thou  fall*st. 
Moon,  that  now  meetst  the  orient  sun,  now  fliest. 
With  the  fixed  stars,  fixed  in  their  orb  that  flies ; 
And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires,  that  move 
In  mystic  dance,  not  without  song,  resound 
His  praise,  who  out  of  darkness  called  up  light. 
Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 
Of  Nature's  womb,  that  in  quaternion  run 
Perpetual  circle  multiform ;  and  mix, 
And  nourish  all  things ;  let  your  ceaseless  change 
Vary  to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise.' — 


238  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  His  praise,  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 
Breathe  soft  or  loud ;  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines, 
With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship,  wave. 
Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 
Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 
Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls ;  ye  birds. 
That  sin^ng  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 
Bear  on  your  wings,  and  in  your  notes,  his  praise.'* 

Deep  and  uncontrolled  Grief. 

'Aspirated' '  Orotund'  and  '  Pectoral  Quality,'  TuU  and  Subdued'  Force, 
alternating, '  Vanishing  Stress,' '  Lowest'  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Monotone,' 
'  Slowest  Movement,'  Very  long  Pauses. 

Extract  from  the  Complaint.  Night  VI. — Young. 

*  Oh !  the  long  dark  approach,  through  years  of  pain, 
Death's  gallery !    (might  I  dare  call  it  so,) 
With  dismal  doubt  and  sable  terror  hung. 
Sick  Hope's  pale  lamp  its  only  glimmering  ray : 
There  Fate  my  melancholy  walk  ordained, — 
Forbid  Self-love  itself  to  flatter,  there. 
How  oft  I  gazed  prophetically  sad ! 
How  oft  I  saw  her  dead,  while  yet  in  smiles  ! — 
In  smiles  she  sunk  her  grief  to  lessen  mine : 
She  spoke  me  comfort,  and  increased  my  pain. 
Like  powerful  armies,  trenching  at  a  town, 
By  slow  and  silent,  but  resistless  sap. 
In  his  pale  progress  gently  gaining  ground, 
Death  urged  his  deadly  siege  ;  in  spite  of  art, — 
Of  all  the  balmy  blessings  Nature  lends 
To  succour  frail  humanity.     Ye  stars ! 
(Not  now  made  first  familiar  to  my  sight,) 
And  thou,  O  Moon !  bear  witness  :  many  a  night 
He  tore  the  pillow  from  beneath  my  head, 

*  Farther  practice  may  be  found  in  the  repetition  of  previous  exer- 
cises of  the  same  class,  introduced  for  the  illustration  of  different  prin- 
ciples. 


239 

Tied  down  my  sore  attention  to  the  shock 

By  ceaseless  depredations  on  a  life 

Dearer  than  that  he  left  me. — Dreadful  post 

Of  observation  !   darker  every  hour ! 

Less  dread  the  day  that  drove  me  to  the  brink, 

And  pointed  at  eternity  below, 

When  my  soul  shuddered  at  futurity ; 

When,  on  a  moment's  point  the  important  die 

Of  life  and  death  spun  doubtful,  ere  it  fell, 

And  turned  up  life,  my  title  to  more  wo  !' 

Extract  from  Job  III. 

V.  3.  *  Let  the  day  perish  wherein  I  was  born.  —  4.  Let 
that  day  be  darkness  ;  let  not  God  regard  it  from  above,  nei- 
ther let  the  night  shine  upon  it.  5.  Let  darkness  and  the 
shadow  of  death  stain  it ;  let  a  cloud  dwell  upon  it ;  let  the 
blackness  of  the  day  terrify  it.  6.  As  for  that  night,  let  dark- 
ness seize  upon  it ;  let  it  not  be  joined  unto  the  days  of  the 
year ;  let  it  not  come  into  the  number  of  the  months.  7.  Lo ! 
let  that  night  be  solitary ;  let  no  joyful  voice  come  therein. 
8.  Let  them  curse  it,  that  curse  the  day,  who  are  ready  to 
raise  up  their  mourning.  9.  Let  the  stars  of  the  twilight 
thereof  be  dark ;  let  it  look  for  light,  but  have  none  ;  neither 
let  it  see  the  dawning  of  the  day.'* 

Deep  and  subdued  Grief, 

'  Orotund'  and  '  Pectoral  Quality,'  '  Subdued'  Force,  Prevalent '  Median,' 
with  occasional '  Vanishing,  and  '  Radical  Stress,'  Low  Pitch,  Level 
Voice, '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses. 

Extracts  from  Burke's  Allusion  to  the  Death  of  his  Son. 

*  Had  it  pleased  God  to  continue  to  me  the  hopes  of  suc- 
cession, I  should  have  been,  according  to  my  mediocrity  and 
the  mediocrity  of  the  age  I  live  in,  a  sort  of  founder  of  a  fam- 
ily ;  I  should  have  left  a  son,  who,  in  all  the  points  in  which 

*  Repeat  previous  examples  of  the  same  emotion. 


240  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

personal  merit  can  be  viewed  in  science,  in  erudition,  in  ge- 
nius, in  taste,  in  honour,  in  generosity,  in  humanity,  in  every 
liberal  sentiment,  and  every  liberal  accomplishment,  would 
not  have  shown  himself  inferior  to  the  duke  of  Bedford,  or 
to  any  of  those  whom  he  traces  in  his  line.  His  grace  very 
soon  would  have  wanted  all  plausibility  in  his  attack  upon 
that  provision  which  belonged  more  to  mine  than  to  me.  He 
would  soon  have  supplied  every  deficiency,  and  symmetrized 
every  disproportion.  It  would  not  have  been  for  that  suc- 
cessor to  resort  to  any  stagnant  wasting  reservoir  of  merit  in 
me,  or  in  any  ancestry.  He  had  in  himself  a  salient,  living 
spring,  of  generous  and  manly  action.  Every  day  he  lived 
he  would  have  re-purchased  the  bounty  of  the  crown,  and  ten 
times  more,  if  ten  times  more  he  had  received.  He  was  made 
a  public  creature  ;  and  had  no  enjoyment  whatever  but  in  the 
performance  of  some  duty. — At  this  exigent  moment,  the  loss 
of  a  finished  man  is  not  easily  supplied. 

But  a  Disposer  whose  power  we  are  little  able  to  resist, 
and  whose  wisdom  it  behoves  us  not  at  all  to  dispute,  has  or- 
dained it  in  another  manner,  and,  (whatever  my  querulous 
weakness  might  suggest,)  a  far  better.  The  storm  has  gone 
over  me  ;  and  I  lie  like  one  of  those  old  oaks  which  the  late 
hurricane  has  scattered  about  me.  I  am  stripped  of  all  my 
honours ;  I  am  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  lie  prostrate  on  the 
earth !  There,  and  prostrate  there,  I  most  unfeignedly  recog- 
nize the  divine  justice,  and  in  some  degree  submit  to  it.  —  I 
am  alone.  I  have  none  to  meet  my  enemies  in  the  gate.  — 
Indeed,  I  greatly  deceive  myself,  if,  in  this  hard  season,  I 
would  give  a  peck  of  refuse  wheat  for  all  that  is  called  fame 
and  honour  in  the  world. — I  live  in  an  inverted  order.  They 
who  ought  to  have  succeeded  me,  are  gone  before  me.  They 
who  should  have  been  to  me  as  posterity,  are  in  the  place  of 
ancestors.  I  owe  to  the  dearest  relation,  (which  ever  must 
subsist  in  memory,)  that  act  of  piety,  which  he  would  have 
performed  to  me.'* 

*  Kepeat  previous  examples  of  the  same  emotion. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  EXPRESSION.'  241 


Indignation. 

Orotund' '  Pectoral  Quality,'  somewhat  '  aspirated,' — Full  Force,  some- 
times '  Impassioned,'  — '  Vanishing  Stress,'  '  Low'  Pitch,  Prevalent 
'  Falling  Inflection,' '  Slow  Movement,'  Pauses  long.  Strong  Emphasis- 

Extracts  from  Fears  in  Solitude.  (Written  in  1798).— Coleridge. 

'  From  east  to  west 
A  groan  of  accusation  pierces  heaven ! 
The  wretched  plead  against  us  ;  multitudes, 
Countless  and  vehement,  the  sons  of  God, 
Our  brethren  !   Like  a  cloud  that  travels  on, 
Steamed  up  from  Cairo's  swamps  of  pestilence,- 
Even  so,  my  countrymen,  have  we  gone  forth, 
And  borne  to  distant  tribes  slavery  and  pangSy 
And,  deadlier  far,  our  vices,  whose  deep  taint, 
With  slow  perdition  murders  the  whole  man. 
His  body  and  his  soul ! 

*  Thankless,  too,  for  peace, 
(Peace  long  preserved  by  fleets  and  perilous  seas,)i 
Secure  from  actual  warfare,  we  have  loved 
Too  well  the  war-whoop,  passionate  for  war ! 
Alas  !   for  acres  iornorant  of  all 
Its  ghastly  workings,  (famine,  or  blue  plague. 
Battle,  or  siege,  or  flight  through  wintry  snows,) 
We,  this  whole  people,  have  been  clamorous 
For  war  and  bloodshed ; — animating  sports  ! 
The  which  we  pay  for,  as  a  thing  to  talk  of, 
Spectators,  and  not  combatants ! — No  guess 
Anticipative  of  a  wrong  unfelt, 
No  speculation  or  contingency. 
However  dim  and  vague,  too  vague  and  dim 
To  yield  a  justifying  cause  ;  and  forth 
(Stuffed  out  with  big  preamble,  holy  names. 
And  adjurations  of  th^  God  in  heaven,) 
We  send  our  mandates  for  the  certain  death 
Of  thousands  and  ten  thousands ! — Boys  and  girls,. 
21 


242  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

And  women  that  would  groan  to  see  a  child 

Pull  off  an  insect's  leg,  all  read  of  war, — 

The  best  amusement  for  our  morning  meal ! 

The  poor  wretch  who  has  learned  his  only  prayers 

From  curses,  who  knows  scarcely  words  enough 

To  ask  a  blessing  from  his  heavenly  Father, 

Becomes  a  fluent  phrase-man,  absolute 

And  technical  in  victories  and  defeats, 

And  all  our  dainty  terms  for  fratricide ; 

Terms  which  we  trundle  smoothly  o'er  our  tongues, 

Like  mere  abstractions,  empty  sounds  to  which 

We  join  no  feeling,  and  attach  no  form  ! 

As  if  the  soldier  died  without  a  wound ; 

As  if  the  fibres  of  this  godlike  frame 

Were  gored  without  a  pang ;  as  if  the  wretch 

Who  fell  in  battle,  doing  bloody  deeds. 

Passed  off  to  heaven  translated,  and  not  killed ; 

As  though  he  had  no  wife  to  pine  for  him, — 

No  God  to  judge  him  !    Therefore,  evil  days 

Are  coming  on  us,  O  my  countrymen  ! 

And  what  if  all-avenging  Providence, 

Strong  and  retributive,  should  make  us  know 

The  meaning  of  our  words,  force  us  to  feel 

The  desolation  and  the  agony 

Of  our  fierce  doings  ?' 

Extract  from  Isaiah  IX. 
V.  13.  *  The  people  turneth  not  unto  him  that  smiteth  them, 
neither  do  they  seek  the  Lord  of  hosts.  14.  Therefore  the 
Lord  will  cut  off  from  Israel  head  and  tail,  branch  and  rush, 
in  one  day.  15.  The  ancient  and  honourable,  he  is  the  head ; 
and  the  prophet  that  teacheth  lies,  he  is  the  tail.  16.  For  the 
leaders  of  this  people  cause  them  to  err ;  and  they  that  are 
led  of  them  are  destroyed.  17.  Therefore  the  Lord  shall  have 
no  joy  in  their  young  men,  neither  shall  have  mercy  on  their 
fatherless  and  widows :  for  every  one  is  a  hypocrite  and  an 
evil  doer,  and  every  mouth  speaketh  folly.     For  all  this  his 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  EXPRESSION.'  243 

anger  is  not  turned  away ;  but  his  hand  is  stretched  out  still. 

18.  For  wickedness  burneth  as  the  fire ;  it  shall  devour  the 
briers  and  thorns,  and  shall  kindle  in  the  thickets  of  the  forest, 
and   they   shall   mount   up   like   the   lifting   up   of  smoke. 

19.  Through  the  w^rath  of  the  Lord  of  hosts  is  the  land  dark- 
ened ;  and  the  people  shall  be  as  the  fuel  of  the  fire  ;  no  man 
shall  spare  his  brother.' —  21.  *  For  all  this  his  anger  is  not 
turned  away ;  but  his  hand  is  stretched  out  stilL' 

Denunciation, 

*  Expression^  as  before,  but  moderated  to  a  more  restrained  and  calmer 
mood,  by  the  influence  of  Solemnity  and  Regret. 

Extract  from  Matthew  VIII. 
V.  21.  ^  Wo  unto  thee,  Chorazin !  wo  unto  thee,  Beth- 
saida !  for  if  the  mighty  works  which  were  done  in  you,  had 
been  done  in  Tyre  and  Sidon,  they  would  have  repented  long 
ago,  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  22.  But  I  say  unto  you,  It  shall 
be  more  tolerable  for  Tyre  and  Sidon,  at  the  day  of  judg- 
ment, than  for  you.  23.  And  thou  Capernaum,  which  art 
exalted  unto  heaven,  shalt  be  thrust  down  to  hell :  for  if  the 
mighty  works  which  have  been  done  in  thee,  had  been  done 
in  Sodom,  it  would  have  remained  until  this  day.  24.  But 
I  say  unto  you,  that  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for  the  land  of 
Sodom,  in  the  day  of  judgment,  than  for  thee.' 

The  Slave-Trade. — Dewey. 
*  The  world  is  full  of  wrongs  and  evils,  and  full  of  wronged 
and  suffering  men.  But  still  I  do  say  that  of  all  wrongs,  sla- 
very is  the  greatest.  It  denies  to  man  his  humanity,  and  all 
its  highest  and  holiest  rights.  And  of  all  slavery,  the  Afri- 
can is  the  most  monstrous.  Other  men  have  fallen  under 
this  doom  by  the  fate  of  war.  They  have  bought  life  at  the 
price  of  bondage.  With  Africa  there  has  been  no  war  but 
that  of  the  prowling  man-stealer  !  He  has  gone  up  among 
the  river-glades  of  that  ill-fated  land ;  he  has  torn  men  and 
women  and  children,  from  their  country  and  their  homes,  who 


244  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

never  did  him  any  wrong  ;  he  has  hurried  them  to  his  prison- 
ship  ;  he  has  plunged  them  into  the  dungeon  of  '  the  middle 
passage,' — middle  passage  1 — phrase  that  passes  in  universal 
speech  for  all  the  atrocities  that  human  nature  can  inflict  or 
endure, — he  has  thrust  them  down  into  that  dark,  unbreath- 
ing  confine,  in  mingling  and  writhing  agony  and  despair  and 
disease  and  corruption  and  death ;  he  has  borne  them  away, 
regardless  of  their  tears  and  entreaties,  and  sold  them  into 
hopeless  bondage  in  a  strange  land  ;  forty  millions, — it  is  cal- 
culated,— forty  millions  of  human  beings  have  suffered  this 
awful  fate  !  Oh  !  it  is  the  great  felon  act  in  human  history  ! 
Oh  !  it  is  the  monster  crime  of  the  world  ! 


Tenderness. 

Pure  Tone,' '  Subdued'  Force, '  Median  Stress,'  '  Middle'  Pitch,  Preva- 
lent '  Semitone,' '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Gentle  Emphasis. 

Extract  from  Lines  to  an  Infant. — Coleridge. 
*  Poor  stumbler  on  the  rocky  coast  of  wo, 
Tutored  by  pain  each  source  of  pain  to  know  ! 
Alike  the  foodful  fruit  and  scorching  fire 
Awake  thy  eager  grasp  and  young  desire ; 
Alike  the  good,  the  ill,  offend  thy  sight, 
And  rouse  the  stormy  sense  of  shrill  affright 
Untaught,  yet  wise  !  mid  all  thy  brief  alarms 
Thou  closely  clingest  to  thy  mother's  arms, 
Nestling  thy~  little  face  in  that  fond  breast 
Whose  anxious  heavings  lull  thee  to  thy  rest ! 

*  Man's  breathing  miniature  !  thou  mak'st  me  sigh, — 
A  babe  art  thou — and  such  a  thing  am  I ! 

To  anger  rapid,  and  as  soon  appeased, 

For  trifles  mourning,  and  by  trifles  pleased, 

Break  Friendship's  mirror  with  a  tetchy  blow, 

Yet  snatch  what  coals  of  fire  on  Pleasure's  altar  glow ! 

*  O  Thou  that  rearest,  with  celestial  aim, 
The  future  seraph  in  my  mortal  frame. 


f 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISE  S.- 


245 


Thrice  holy  Faith  !  whatever  thorns  I  meet, 
As  on  I  totter  with  unpractised  feet, 
Still  let  me  stretch  my  arms  and  cling  to  thee. 
Meek  nurse  of  souls,  through  their  long  infancy  !* 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  moderated  in  its  characteristics. 
Extract  from  Matthew^  XI. 
V.  28.  *  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour,  and  are  heavy 
laden  ;  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  29.  Take  my  yoke  upon 
you,  and  learn  of  me  :  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  of  heart ;  and 
ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls.  30.  For  my  yoke  is  easy, 
and  my  burden  is  light.' 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  more  vivid. 
Extract  from  Genesis^  XLIV. 
V.  13.  *  Then  they  rent  their  clothes,  and  laded  every  man 
his  ass,  and  returned  to  the  city.  14.  And  Judah  and  his 
brethren  came  to  Joseph's  house,  (for  he  was  yet  there :)  and 
they  fell  before  him  on  the  ground.  15.  And  Joseph  said 
unto  them,  "  What  deed  is  this  that  ye  have  done  ?  wot  ye  not 
that  such  a  man  as  I  can  certainly  divine  ?"  16.  And  Judah 
said,  "What  shall  we  say  unto  my  lord  ?  what  shall  we  speak  ? 
or  how  shall  we  clear  ourselves  ?  God  hath  found  out  the  in- 
iquity of  thy  servants :  behold  we  are  my  lord's  servants, 
both  we,  and  he  also  with  whom  the  cup  is  found."  17.  And 
he  said,  "God  forbid  that  I  should  do  so  :  but  the  man  in  whose 
hand  the  cup  is  found,  he  shall  be  my  servant ;  and  as  for 
you,  get  you  up  in  peace  unto  your  father,"  18.  Then  Judah 
came  near  unto  him,  and  said,  "  O  my  lord,  let  thy  servant,  I 
pray  thee,  speak  a  word  in  my  lord's  ears  ;  and  let  not  thine 
anger  burn  against  thy  servant :  for  thou  art  even  as  Pha- 
raoh. 19.  My  lord  asked  his  servants,  saying,  Have  ye  a 
father,  or  a  brother  ?  20.  And  we  said  unto  my  lord.  We 
have  a  father,  an  old  man,  and  a  child  of  his  old  age,  a  little 
one  ;  and  his  brother  is  dead,  and  he  alone  is  left  of  his  mo- 
ther, and  his  father  loveth  him.  21.  And  thou  saidst  unto 
21* 


246  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

thy  servants,  Bring  him  down  unto  me,  that  I  may  set  mine 
eyes  upon  him.  22.  And  we  said  unto  my  lord,  '  The  lad 
cannot  leave  his  father  :  for  if  he  should  leave  his  father,  his 
father  would  die.'  23.  And  thou  saidst  unto  thy  servants, 
•*  Except  your  youngest  brother  come  down  with  you,  ye  shall 
see  my  face  no  more.'  24.  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  we 
-came  up  unto  thy  servant  my  father,  we  told  him  the  words 
of  my  lord.  25.  And  our  father  said,  *  Go  again,  and  buy  us 
a  little  food.'  26.  And  we  said,  *  We  cannot  go  down  :  if  our 
youngest  brother  be  with  us,  then  will  we  go  down ;  for  we 
may  not  see  the  man's  face,  except  our  youngest  brother  be 
with  us.'  27.  And  thy  servant  my  father  said  unto  us,  '  Ye 
tnow  that  my  wife  bare  me  two  sons  :  28.  And  the  one  went 
out  from  me,  and  I  said,  *  Surely  he  is  torn  in  pieces ;'  and  I 
saw  him  not  since :  29.  And  if  ye  take  this  also  from  me, 
and  mischief  befall  him,  ye  shall  bring  down  my  gray  hairs 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave.'  30.  Now  therefore  when  I  come 
to  thy  servant  my  father,  and  the  lad  be  not  with  us  ;  (seeing 
that  his  life  is  bound  up  in  the  lad's  life  ;)  31.  It  shall  come 
to  pass,  when  he  seeth  that  the  lad  is  not  with  us,  that  he  will 
die  :  and  thy  servants  shall  bring  down  the  gray  hairs  of  thy 
servant  our  father  with  sorrow  to  the  grave.  32.  For  thy 
servant  became  surety  for  the  lad  unto  my  father  ;  saying,  '  If 
I  bring  him  not  unto  thee,  then  I  shall  bear  the  blame  to  my 
father  for  ever.*  33.  Now  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  let  thy  ser- 
Tant  abide  instead  of  the  lad  a  bondman  to  my  lord ;  and  let 
the  lad  go  up  with  his  brethren.  34.  For  how  shall  I  go  up 
to  my  father,  and  the  lad  be  not  with  me  ?  lest  peradventure 
I  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  on  my  father.'  " 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  more  solemn. 

Consolation — Finlayson. 

*  Hast  thou,  with  weeping  eyes,  committed  to  the  grave  the 

child  of  thy  affections,  the  virtuous  friend  of  thy  youth,  or  the 

tender  partner,  whose  pious  attachment  lightened  the  load  of 

life  ?     Behold  they  are  not  dead.     Thou  knowest  that  they 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  EXPRESSION.'  247 

live  in  a  better  region,  with  their  Saviour  and  their  God ; 
that  still  thou  holdest  thy  place  in  their  remembrance ;  and 
that  thou  shalt  soon  meet  them  again  to  part  no  more.  Dost 
thou  look  forward  with  trembling  to  the  days  of  darkness  that 
are  to  fall  on  thyself,  when  thou  shalt  lie  on  the  bed  of  sick- 
ness, when  thy  pulse  shall  have  become  low, — when  the  cold 
damps  have  gathered  on  thy  brow, — and  the  mournful  looks 
of  thy  attendants  have  told  thee  that  the  hour  of  thy  depart- 
ure has  come  ?  To  the  mere  natural  man  this  scene  is  aw- 
ful and  alarming  ;  but  if  thou  art  a  Christian, — if  thou  know- 
est  and  obeyest  the  truth,  thou  needest  fear  no  evil.  The 
shadows  which  hang  over  the  valley  of  death  shall  retire  at 
thy  approach  ;  and  thou  shalt  see  beyond  it  the  spirits  of  the 
just,  and  an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  the  future  com- 
panions of  thy  bliss,  bending  from  their  thrones  to  cheer  thy 
departing  soul,  and  to  welcome  thee  into  everlasting  habita- 
tions.' 

Penitence  and  Contrition. 

'  Pure  Tone,' '  Subdued'  Force, '  Median'  and  '  Vanishing  Stress,' '  High' 
Pitch,  Prevalent '  Semitone,' '  Slowest  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Ear- 
nest Emphasis. 

Hymn. — ]VIrs.  Steele. 

*  O  Thou,  whose  tender  mercy  hears 

Contrition's  humble  sigh ; 
Whose  hand  indulgent  wipes  the  tears 
From  sorrow's  weeping  eye ; — 

*  See,  Lord,  before  thy  throne  of  grace, 

A  wretched  wanderer  mourn ; 
Hast  thou  not  bid  me  seek  thy  face  ? 
Hast  thou  not  said — "  Return"  ? 

*  And  shall  my  guilty  fears  prevail 

To  drive  me  from  thy  feet  ? 
Oh  !  let  not  this  dear  refuge  fail, 
This  only  safe  retreat. 


248  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  Absent  from  thee,  my  Guide  !  my  light ! 

Without  one  cheering  ray, 
Through  dangers,  fears,  and  gloomy  night, 
How  desolate  my  way  ! 

*  Oh  !  shine  on  this  benighted  heart, 

With  beams  of  mercy  shine  ! 
And  let  thy  healing  voice  impart 
A  taste  of  joy  divine.* 


Jiegret,  Repentance,  and  Shame, 

Aspirated  Orotund  Quality,'  '  Suppressed'  Force,  '  Vanishing  Stress,' 
'  Low'  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Slow  Movement,'  Long 
Pauses,  Strong  Emphasis. 

Adam's  Confusion  on  aimkening  to  the  sense  of  Guilt. 

*  How  shall  I  behold  the  face. 
Henceforth,  of  God  or  angel,  erst  with  joy 
And  rapture  so  oft  beheld  ?     Those  heavenly  shapes 
Will  dazzle  now  this  earthly  with  their  blaze 
Insufferably  bright.     Oh  !  might  I  here 
In  solitude  live  savage,  in  some  glade 
Obscured,  w^here  highest  woods,  impenetrable 
To  star  or  sun  light,  spread  their  umbrage  broad 
And  brown  as  evening.     Cover  me  ye  pines. 
Ye  cedars,  with  innumerable  boughs 
Hide  me,  where  I  may  never  see  them  more !' 


'  Expression,'  as  in  the  preceding  example. 
Job's  Confession.  XLII.  Chap. 
V.  2.  *  I  know  that  thou  canst  do  every  thing,  and  that  no 
thought  can  be  witholden  from  thee.  3.  Who  is  he  that 
hideth  counsel  without  knowledge  ?  therefore  have  I  uttered 
that  I  understood  not ;  things  too  wonderful  for  me,  which  I 
knew  not.  4.  Hear,  I  beseech  thee ;  and  I  will  speak :  I 
will  demand  of  thee,  and  declare  thou  unto  me.  5.  I  have 
heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear :  but  now  mine  eye 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — ^  EXPRESSION.'  249 

seeth  thee :  6.  Wherefore  I  abhor  myself,  and  repent  in  dust 
and  ashes.' 

Stanzas. — Watts. 

*  Oh !  wash  my  soul  from  every  sin, 
And  make  my  guilty  conscience  clean  ; 
Here,  on  my  heart,  the  burden  lies, 
And  past  offences  pain  mine  eyes. 

*  My  lips,  with  shame,  my  sins  confess. 
Against  thy  law — against  thy  grace  : 
Lord,  should  thy  judgment  grow  severe, 
I  am  condemned, — but  thou  art  clear.' 

Remorse,  Self-reproach,  Horror,  and  Despair. 

'  Aspirated  Pectoral  Quality,'  '  Vanishing  Stress,'  '  Low'  Pitch,  Preva- 
lent '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Slowest  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Strong 
Emphasis. 

AdawHs  Emotions  in  Retrospection  and  Anticipation. — MUton. 

*  But  say 
That  death  be  not  one  stroke,  as  I  supposed, 
Bereaving  sense,  but  endless  misery 
From  this  day  onward,  which  I  feel  begun 
Both  in  me,  and  without  me,  and  so  last 
To  perpetuity ; — ay  me  !  that  fear 
Comes  thundering  back  with  dreadful  revolution 
On  my  defenceless  head  :  both  Death  and  I 
Am  found  eternal,  and  incorporate  both ; 
Not  I  on  my  part  single,  in  me  all 
Posterity  stands  cursed : — fair  patrimony 
That  I  must  leave  ye,  sons  !     Oh !  were  I  able 
To  waste  it  all  myself,  and  leave  ye  none  ! 
So  disinherited  how  would  ye  bless 
Me,  now  your  curse !     Ah  !  why  should  all  mankind 
For  one  man's  fault  thus  guiltless  be  condemned. 
If  guiltless  ?     But  from  me  what  can  proceed. 
But  all  corrupt,  both  mind  and  will  depraved^ 


250  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Not  to  do  only,  but  to  will  the  same 

With  me  ?     How  can  they  then  acquitted  stand 

In  sight  of  God  ?     Him,  after  all  disputes, 

Forced,  I  absolve  :  all  my  evasions  vain, 

And  reasoning,  though  through  mazes,  lead  me  still 

But  to  my  own  conviction :  first  and  last 

On  me,  me  only,  as  the  source  and  spring 

Of  all  corruption,  all  the  blame  lights  due ; 

So  might  the  wrath !    Fond  wish !  Couldst  thou  support 

That  burden  heavier  than  the  earth  to  bear, 

Than  all  the  world  much  heavier,  though  divided 

"With  that  bad  woman  ?     Thus  what  thou  desirest, 

And  what  thou  fear'st,  alike  destroys  all  hope 

Of  refuge,  and  concludes  thee  miserable 

Beyond  all  past  example  and  future, — 

To  Satan  only  like  both  crime  and  doom — 

0  conscience,  into  what  abyss  of  fears 

And  horrors  hast  thou  driven  me ;  out  of  which 

1  find  no  way,  from  deep  to  deeper  plunged !' 

'  Expression'  as  before. 
The  Sinner  expiring  in  conscious  Guilt  and  Horror. — Massillon. 

*  Alas !  the  dying  man  had  lived  as  if  the  body  had  formed 
his  only  being  and  treasure ;  he  had  even  tried  to  persuade 
himself  that  his  soul  was  nothing :  that  man  is  only  a  compo- 
sition of  flesh  and  blood,  and  that  everything  perishes  with  us. 
He  is  now  informed  that  it  is  his  body  which  is  nothing  but  a 
morsel  of  clay,  now  on  the  point  of  crumbling  into  pieces  ; 
and  that  his  only  immortal  being  is  that  soul,  that  image  of  the 
Divinity,  that  intelligence,  alone  capable  of  knowing  and  lov- 
ing its  Creator,  which  now  prepares  to  quit  its  earthly  man- 
sion, and  appear  before  his  awful  tribunal. 

*  Then,  the  expiring  sinner,  no  longer  finding  in  the  re- 
membrance of  the  past,  but  regrets  which  overwhelm  him ;  in 
all  which  takes  place  around  him,  but  images  which  afflict  him  ; 
in  the  thoughts  of  futurity,  but  horrors  which  appal  him ;  no 
longer  knowing  to  whom  to  have  recourse ;  neither  to  created 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. ^EXPRESSION.'  251 

beings,  who  now  leave  him  ;  nor  to  the  world,  which  vanishes  ; 
nor  to  men,  who  cannot  save  him  from  death  ;  nor  to  the  just 
God,  whom  he  looks  upon  as  a  declared  enemy,  and  from 
whom  he  has  no  indulgence  to  expect :  a  thousand  horrors 
occupy  his  thoughts ;  he  torments,  he  agitates  himself,  in  or- 
der to  fly  from  death  which  grasps  him,  or  at  least  to  fly  from 
himself.  From  his  expiring  eyes  issue  something,  I  know  not 
what,  of  dark  and  gloomy,  which  expresses  the  fury  of  his 
soul ;  in  his  anguish,  he  utters  words  interrupted  by  sobs, 
which  are  unintelligible,  and  to  which  others  know  not  whether 
repentance  or  despair  gives  birth.  He  is  seized  with  convul- 
sions, which  they  are  ignorant  whether  to  ascribe  to  the  actual 
dissolution  of  his  body,  or  to  the  soul  which  feels  the  approach 
of  its  Judge.  He  deeply  sighs  ;  and  they  know  not  whether 
the  remembrance  of  his  past  crimes,  or  the  despair  at  quitting 
life,  forces  from  him  such  groans  of  anguish.  At  last,  in  the 
midst  of  these  melancholy  exertions,  his  eyes  fix,  his  features 
change,  his  countenance  becomes  disfigured,  his  livid  lips  con- 
vulsively separate  ;  his  whole  frame  quivers  ;  and,  by  this  last 
effort,  his  miserable  soul  tears  itself  reluctantly  from  that 
body  of  clay,  falls  into  the  hands  of  its  God,  and  finds  itself 
alone  at  the  foot  of  the  awful  tribunal.' 


Joy. 

'  Orotund  Quality,'  Pull  Force,  rising  to  '  Impassioned,' — '  Expulsive 
Eadical  Stress,'  Pitch,  from  '  Middle'  to  '  High,' — Prevalent  '  Falling 
Inflection,'  '  Lively  Movement,'  Pauses  short,  Emphasis  bold. 

Isaiah  XII. 

V.  1.  *  O  Lord,  I  will  praise  thee  :  though  thou  wast  angry 
with  me,  thine  anger  is  turned  away,  and  thou  comfortedst  me. 
2.  Behold,  God  is  my  salvation ;  I  will  trust,  and  not  be 
afraid ;  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  my  strength  and  my  song ; 
he  also  is  become  my  salvation.  3.  Therefore  with  joy  shall 
ye  draw  water  out  of  the  wells  of  salvation.  4.  And  in  that 
day  shall  ye  say,  ''Praise  the  Lord,  call  upon  his  name,  declare 
his  doings  among  the  people,  make  mention  that  his  name  is 


252  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

exalted.  5.  Sing  unto  the  Lord  ;  for  he  hath  done  excellent 
things  :  this  is  known  in  all  the  earth.  6.  Cry  out  and  shout, 
thou  inhabitant  of  Zion ;  for  great  is  the  Holy  One  of  Israel 
in  the  midst  of  thee.'  " 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  moderated. 
Hymn. — Watts. 

*  Joy  to  the  world — the  Lord  is  come  ! 

Let  earth  receive  her  King ; 

Let  every  heart  prepare  him  room, 

And  heaven  and  nature  sing. 

*  Joy  to  the  world — the  Saviour  reigns, 

Let  men  their  songs  employ ; 
While  fields  and  floods — rocks,  hills,  and  plains 
Repeat  the  sounding  joy. 

*  No  more  let  sin  and  sorrow  grow, 

Nor  thorns  infest  the  ground ; 
He  comes  to  make  his  blessings  flow 
Far  as  the  curse  is  found. 

<  He  rules  the  world  with  truth  and  grace, 
And  makes  the  nations  prove 
The  glories  of  his  righteousness, 
And  wonders  of  his  love.' 


'  Expression'  as  before,  but  moderated. 
The  Dying  Believer. — Buckminster. 

*  Oh !  that  I  could  open  to  you  the  recesses  of  the  dying 
believer's  soul ;  that  I  could  reveal  to  you  the  light  which 
darts  into  the  chambers  of  his  understanding.  He  approaches 
the  world  which  he  has  so  long  seen  in  faith.  The  imagina- 
tion now  collects  its  diminished 'strength ;  and  the  eye  of  faith 
opens  wide. 

*  Friends !  do  not  stand,  thus  fixed  in  sorrow,  around  this 
bed  of  death.  Why  are  you  so  still  and  silent  ?  Fear  not  to 
move — you  cannot  disturb  the  last  visions  which  entrance  this 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  EXPRESSION.*  253 

holy  spirit.  Your  lamentations  break  not  in  upon  the  songg 
of  seraphs,  which  enwrap  his  hearing  in  ecstasy.  Crowd,  if 
you  choose,  around  his  couch — he  heeds  you  not — already  he 
sees  the  spirits  of  the  just  advancing  together,  to  receive  a 
kindred  soul.  Press  him  not  with  importunities ;  urge  hira 
not  with  alleviations.  Think  you  he  wants  now  these  tones- 
of  mortal  voices, — these  material,  these  gross  consolations? 
No  !  He  is  going  to  add  another  to  the  myriads  of  the  just,, 
that  are  every  moment  crowding  into  the  portals  of  heaven  T 


Happiness, 

Quality'  rising  from  '  Pure  Tone'  to  '  Orotund,' — Force  '  Moderate,*" 
'  Median  Stress,'  gently  expulsive, — Pitch, '  Middle'  to  '  High,' — Varied! 
but  moderate  Inflection, — Movement,  Pauses,  and  Emphasis,  Moderate. 

Stanzas. — Watts. 

*  There  is  a  stream,  whose  gentle  flow 

Supplies  the  city  of  our  God : 
Life,  love,  and  joy,  still  gliding  through, 
And  watering  our  divine  abode. 

*  That  sacred  stream — thy  holy  word, — 

Supports  our  faith, — our  fear  controls  : 
Sweet  peace  thy  promises  afford. 

And  give  new  strength  to  fainting  souls/ 


<  Expression'  as  in  the  preceding  example,  but  fuller,  deeper,  and  stronger- 
in  degree. 

Extracts  from  Psalms  XXXVI  and  LXV. 
V.  5.  *  Thy  mercy,  O  Lord,  is  in  the  heavens ;  and  thy^ 
faithfulness  reacheth  unto  the  clouds.  6.  Thy  righteousness 
is  like  the  great  mountains ;  thy  judgments  are  a  great  deep : 
O  Lord,  thou  preservest  man  and  beast.  7.  How  excellent  is 
thy  loving-kindness,  0  God !  therefore  the  children  of  men 
put  their  trust  under  the  shadow  of  thy  wings.  8.  They  shall 
be  abundantly  satisfied  with  the  fatness  of  thy  house ;  and 
thou  shalt  make  them  drink  of  the  river  of  thy  pleasures.* 
22 


254  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

V.  9.  '  Thou  visitest  the  earth,  and  waterest  it :  thou  greatly 
enrichest  it  with  the  river  of  God,  which  is  full  of  water  :  thou 
preparest  them  corn,  when  thou  hast  so  provided  for  it. 
10.  Thou  waterest  the  ridges  thereof  abundantly :  thou  settlest 
the  furrows  thereof:  thou  makest  it  soft  with  showers :  thou 
blessest  the  springing  thereof.  11.  Thou  crownest  the  year 
with  thy  goodness ;  and  thy  paths  drop  fatness.  12.  They 
drop  upon  the  pastures  of  the  wilderness :  and  the  little  hills 
rejoice  on  every  side.  13.  The  pastures  are  clothed  with 
flocks ;  the  valleys  also  are  covered  over  with  corn ;  they 
shout  for  joy,  they  also  sing.* 

Extract  from  Isaiah  II. 
Y.  2.  *  And  it  shall  come  to  pass  in  the  last  days,  that  the 
mountain  of  the  Lord's  house  shall  be  established  in  the  top 
of  the  mountains,  and  shall  be  exalted  above  the  hills ;  and  all 
nations  shall  flow  unto  it.  3.  And  many  people  shall  go  and 
say,  "  Come  ye,  and  let  us  go  up  to  the  mountain  of  the  Lord, 
to  the  house  of  the  God  of  Jacob  ;  and  he  will  teach  us  of  his 
ways,  and  we  will  walk  in  his  paths  :"  for  out  of  Zion  shall  go 
forth  the  law,  and  the  word  of  the  Lord  from  Jerusalem. 
4.  And  he  shall  judge  among  the  nations,  and  shall  rebuke 
many  people :  and  they  shall  beat  their  swords  into  plough- 
shares, and  their  spears  into  pruning-hooks  :  nation  shall  not 
lift  up  sword  against  nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war  any 
more.  5.  O  house  of  Jacob,  come  ye,  and  let  us  walk  in  the 
light  of  the  Lord.' 

'  Expression'  as  before. 
The  Pleasures  of  Youthful  Piety. — Alison. 

*  In  evecy  part  of  Scripture,  it  is  remarkable  with  what  sin- 
gular tenderness  the  season  of  youth  is  always  mentioned,  and 
what  hopes  are  afforded  to  the  devotion  of  the  young. 

*  If  these,  then,  are- the  effects  and  promises  of  youthful  pie- 
ty, rejoice,  O  young  man,  in  thy  youth  ! — rejoice  in  those  days 
which  are  never  to  return,  when  religion  comes  to  thee  in  all 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  EXPRESSION.'  255 

its  charms,  and  when  the  God  of  nature  reveals  himself  to  thy 
soul,  like  the  mild  radiance  of  the  morning  sun,  when  he  rises 
amid  the  blessings  of  a  grateful  world.  If  already  Devotion 
hath  taught  thee  her  secret  pleasures  ; — if,  when  Nature  meets 
thee  in  all  its  magnificence  or  beauty,  thy  heart  humbleth  it- 
self in  adoration  before  the  Hand  which  made  it,  and  rejoiceth 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  wisdom  by  which  it  is  maintained  ; 
if,  when  Revelation  unveils  her  mercies,  and  the  son  of  God 
comes  forth  to  give  peace  and  hope  to  fallen  man,  thine  eye 
follows  with  astonishment  the  glories  of  his  path,  and  pours 
at  last  over  his  cross  those  pious  tears  which  it  is  a  delight  to 
shed  ; — if  thy  soul  accompanieth  him  in  his  triumph  over  the 
grave,  and  entereth  on  the  wings  of  faith  into  that  heaven 
"  where  he  sat  down  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  high," 
and  seeth  the  "  society  of  angels  and  of  the  spirits  of  just  men 
made  perfect,"  and  listeneth  to  the  "  everlasting  song  which  is 
sung  before  the  throne :" — If  such  are  the  meditations  in 
which  thy  youthful  hours  are  passed,  renounce  not,  for  all 
that  life  can  offer  thee  in  exchange,  these  solitary  joys.  The 
world  which  is  before  thee, — the  world  which  thine  imagina- 
tion paints  in  such  brightness, — has  no  pleasures  to  bestow 
which  can  compare  with  these.  And  all  that  its  boasted  wis- 
dom can  produce,  has  nothing  so  acceptable  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven,  as  this  pure  offering  of  thy  youthful  souL* 


'  Expression'  as  before,  but  moderated. 
The  Enjoyments  of  the  Poor  in  Spring. — Duncan. 
'  This  is  truly  the  glad  season  of  the  year.  Wherever  we 
turn  our  eyes.  Nature  wears  a  smile  of  joy,  as  if,  freed  from 
the  storms  and  the  cold  of  winter,  she  revelled  in  the  well  en- 
hanced luxury  of  spring.  The  lengthening  day,  the  increas- 
ing warmth  of  the  air,  and  the  gradually  deepening  green  of 
the  awakened  earth,  excite  in  every  breast  a  lively  sense  of 
gratitude,  and  pleasingly  affect  the  imagination.  A  walk 
among  the  woods  or  fields,  in  a  calm  spring  day,  when  the 
trees  are  bursting  forth  into  beauty,  and  all  the  land  is  echo- 


256  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

ing  with  song,  may  well  soothe  the  stormiest  passions,  and 
inspire  that  "  vernal  delight,"  which  is  "  able  to  drive  away 
all  sadness  but  despair."  The  mind  sympathizes  with  the  joy 
of  inanimate  Nature,  and  rejoices  to  behold  the  reviving  beauty 
of  the  earth,  as  if  itself  had  escaped  from  a  period  of  gloom  to 
bask  in  the  sunshine  of  hope  and  enjoyment. 

*  We  are  familiar  with  the  joys  of  spring  as  felt  or  sung  by 
poets  and  other  ardent  lovers  of  Nature.  They  form  the  bur- 
den of  many  a  poetic  strain,  and  excite  to  many  a  meditative 
reverie.  They  have  inspired  enthusiasm  and  deep  delight, 
ever  since  there  was  an  eye  to  witness,  or  a  mind  to  feel,  the 
harmony  and  loveliness  of  this  gorgeously-arrayed  and  breath- 
ing world.  They  are  the  source  of  exquisite  emotion  to  eve- 
ry mind,  in  which  dwells  a  sense  of  beauty  and  creative  de- 
sign. They  also  light  the  brow  of  care,  and  bring  back  the 
flush  of  health  and  hope  to  the  pale  and  wasted  cheek.  And 
not  only  by  the  rich  and  the  enlightened, — by  the  children  of 
luxury  and  mental  refinement, — are  the  fine  and  indescribable 
delights  of  this  season  deeply  felt  and  valued ;  spring  is  also 
a  time  of  increased  enjoyment  to  the  poor.  It  fills  the  in- 
mates of  many  an  humble  dwelling  with  gladness,  and  makes 
even  desponding  poverty  smile,  and  hope  for  better  days. 

*  There  is  something  in  the  flowery  sweetness  and  genial 
warmth  of  spring,  that  kindles  in  the  rudest  bosom  feelings  of 
gratitude  and  pleasure.  The  contrast  to  the  cold  and  desola- 
tion of  winter,  is  so  striking  and  agreeable,  that  every  heart, 
unless  it  be  hardened  by  the  direst  ignorance  and  crime,  is 
melted  to  love  and  pious  emotion  ;  and  breathings  of  deep-felt 
adoration  escape  from  the  most  untutored  lips.  The  carols 
of  the  ploughman,  as  he  traverses  the  field,  the  live-long  day, 
and  turns  up  the  fresh  soil,  seem  to  bespeak  a  lightsome  heart, 
and  evince  the  joyousness  of  labour.  The  shepherd,  as  he 
sits  upon  the  hill-side,  and  surveys  his  quiet  flock,  with  its 
sportive  companies  of  lambs, — those  sweetest  emblems  of  in- 
nocent mirth, — feels  a  joy  and  calm  satisfaction,  that  is 
heightened  by  the  recollection  of  the  vanished  snow-storms  of 
recent  winter,  and  of  all  the  anxieties  and  toils  attending  his 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — ^EXPRESSION.'  257 

peculiar  charge.  Even  the  hard-working  mechanic  of  the 
village  or  town,  shares  the  general  gladness  of  the  season.  As 
he  strolls  in  sweet  relaxation  into  the  glittering  fields,  or  along 
the  blossoming  hedgerows  and  lanes,  haply  supporting  with  his 
hand  the  tottering  footsteps  of  his  child,  or  carrying  the  tender 
infant  in  his  arms,  he  breathes  the  freshening  air,  treads  the 
reviving  turf  beneath  his  feet,  and  inhales  the  first  faint  per- 
fumes, and  listens  to  the  first  melodies  of  the  year,  with  an 
enjoyment  that  his  untaught  powers  of  expression  cannot  de- 
scribe.' 

Composure,  Serenity,  and  Complacency, 

*  Pure  Tone'  swelling  to  '  Orotund,'  '  Moderate'  Force,  '  Median  Stress,' 
'  Middle'  Pitch,  '  Moderate'  Inflection, '  Moderate  Movement,'  Pauses, 
and  Emphasis. 

Hymn. — Mrs.  Steele. 

*  Father,  whate'er  of  earthly  bliss 

Thy  sovereign  will  denies, 
Accepted  at  thy  throne  of  grace 
Let  this  petition  rise : — 

' "  Give  me  a  calm,  a  thankful  heart, 
From  every  murmur  free ; 
The  blessings  of  thy  grace  impart, 
And  make  me  live  to  thee." 

*  Oh  !  let  the  hope  that  thou  art  mine, 

My  life  and  death  attend — 
Thy  presence  through  my  journey  shine, 
And  crown  my  journey's  end.' 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  carried  nearer  to  that  of  Joy,  by  a  slight  in- 
crease of  Force,  rise  of  Pitch,  and  quickening  of  '  Movement.' 

Extract  from  Isaiah  XL 

V.  1.  <  And  there  shall  come  forth  a  rod  out  of  the  stem  of 

Jesse,  and  a  branch  shall  grow  out  of  his  roots  :   2.  And  the 

Spirit  of  the  Lord  shall  rest  upon  him,  the  spirit  of  wisdom 

and  understanding,  the  spirit  of  counsel  and  might,  the  spirit 

22* 


258  PTJLPIT  ELOCTTTION. 

of  knowledge  and  of  the  fear  of  the  Lord  ;  3.  and  shall  make 
him  of  quick  understanding  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  :  and  he 
shall  not  judge  after  the  sight  of  his  eyes,  neither  reprove  af- 
ter the  hearing  of  his  ears  ;  4.  but  with  righteousness  shall  he 
judge  the  poor,  and  reprove  with  equity  for  the  meek  of  the 
earth  :  and  he  shall  smite  the  earth  w^ith  the  rod  of  his  mouth, 
and  with  the  breath  of  his  lips  shall  he  slay  the  wicked. 
5.  And  righteousness  shall  be  the  girdle  of  his  loins,  and  faith- 
fulness the  girdle  of  his  reins.  6.  The  wolf  also  shall  dwell 
with  the  lamb,  and  the  leopard  shall  lie  down  with  the  kid ; 
«,nd  the  calf  and  the  young  lion  and  the  fatling  together ;  and 
a  little  child  shall  lead  them.  7.  And  the  cow  and  the  bear 
shall  feed  ;  their  young  ones  shall  lie  down  together :  and  the 
lion  shall  eat  straw  like  the  ox.  8.  And  the  sucking  child 
«hall  play  on  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child  shall 
put  his  hand  on  the  cockatrice's  den.  9.  They  shall  not  hurt 
nor  destroy  in  all  my  holy  mountain :  for  the  earth  shall  be 
full  of  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea.* 

Expression'  as  before,  but  softened  and  levelled  by  the  influence  of 

Tranquillity. 

Religious  Retirement. — Logan. 

'■  Religious  retirement  takes  off  the  impression  which  the 
neighbourhood  of  evil  example  has  a  tendency  to  make  upon 
the  mind.  The  world,  ray  friends,  is  not  in  general  a  school 
of  virtue,  it  is  often  the  scene  of  vanity  and  vice.  Corrupted 
manners,  vicious  deeds,  evil  communications,  surround  us  on 
every  side. 

<  To  avoid  the  pollution  with  which  the  world  is  infected, 
to  keep  off  the  intrusion  of  vain  and  sinful  thoughts,  enter  in- 
to thy  chamber,  and  shut  thy  doors  around  thee.  There  the 
wick<;d  cease  from  troubling,  there  the  man  who  is  wearied 
of  the  world  is  at  rest.  There  the  glare  of  external  objects 
disappears,  and  the  chains  that  bound  you  to  the  world,  are 
broken.  There  you  shut  out  the  strife  of  tongues,  the  imper- 
tinences of  the  idle,  the  lies  of  the  vain,  the  scandal  of  the  ma- 
licious, the  slanders  of  the  defamer,  and  all  that  world  of  ini- 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. 'EXPRESSION.*  259 

quity  which  proceeds  from  the  tongue.  In  this  asylum  thy 
safety  dwells.  To  thy  holy  retreat,  an  impure  guest  dares 
not  approach.  Enjoying  the  blessed  calm  and  serenity  of  thy 
own  mind,  thou  hearest  the  tempest  raging  around  thee,  and 
spending  its  strength ;  the  objects  of  sense  being  removed,  the 
appetites  which  they  excited,  depart  along  with  them.  The 
scene  being  shifted,  and  the  actors  gone,  the  passions  which 
they  raised,  die  away.* 


'  Expression'  as  before,  but  deepened  by  the  mood  of  Contemplation. 
Evenmg. — Alison. 

'  There  is  an  even-tide  in  the  day, — an  hour  when  the  sun 
retires,  and  the  shadows  fall,  and  when  nature  assumes  the 
appearance  of  soberness  and  silence.  It  is  an  hour  from 
which  everywhere  the  thoughtless  fly,  as  peopled  only  in 
their  imagination  with  images  of  gloom : — it  is  the  hour,  on 
the  other  hand,  which,  in  every  age,  the  wise  have  loved,  as 
bringing  with  it  sentiments  and  affections  more  valuable  than 
all  the  splendours  of  the  day. 

*  Its  first  impression  is  to  still  all  the  turbulence  of  thought 
or  passion  which  the  day  may  have  brought  forth.  We  fol- 
low, with  our  eye,  the  descending  sun, — we  listen  to  the  de- 
caying sounds  of  labour  and  of  toil, — and,  when  all  the  fields 
are  silent  around  us,  we  feel  a  kindred  stillness  to  breathe  up- 
on our  souls,  and  to  calm  them  from  the  agitations  of  society. 
From  this  first  impression,  there  is  a  second  which  naturally 
follows  it ; — in  the  day  we  are  living  with  men, — in  the  even- 
tide we  begin  to  live  with  nature  ; — we  see  the  world  with- 
drawn from  us, — the  shades  of  night  darken  over  the  habita- 
tions of  men  ;  and  we  feel  ourselves  alone.  It  is  an  hour  fitted, 
as  it  would  seem,  by  Him  who  made  us,  to  still,  but  with  gen- 
tle hand,  the  throb  of  every  unruly  passion,  and  the  ardour  of 
every  impure  desire ;  and  while  it  veils  for  a  time  the  world 
that  misleads  us,  to  awaken  in  our  hearts  those  legitimate  af- 
fections which  the  heat  of  the  day  may  have  dissolved.  There 
is  yet  a  farther  scene  it  presents  to  us : — While  the  world 


260  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

withdraws  from  us,  and  while  the  shades  of  the  evening  dark- 
en upon  our  dwellings,  the  splendours  of  the  firmament  come 
forward  to  our  view.  In  the  moments  when  earth  is  over- 
shadowed, heaven  opens  to  our  eyes  the  radiance  of  a  sub- 
limer  Being ;  our  hearts  follow  the  successive  splendours  of 
the  scene  ;  and  while  we  forget,  for  a  time,  the  obscurity  of 
earthly  concerns,  we  feel  that  there  are  "  yet  greater  things 
than  these." ' 

'  Expression'  as  before,  but  enlivened  by  Cheerfulness. 
A  Cheerful  Mind. — Addison. 

*I  cannot  but  look  upon  a  cheerful  state  of  mind  as  a  con- 
stant habitual  gratitude  to  the  great  Author  of  nature.  An 
inward  cheerfulness  is  an  implicit  praise  and  thanksgiving  to 
Providence,  under  all  its  dispensations.  It  is  a  kind  of  ac- 
quiescence in  the  state  wherein  we  are  placed,  and  a  secret 
approbation  of  the  Divine  will  in  his  conduct  towards  man. 

*  A  man  who  uses  his  best  endeavours  to  live  according  to 
the  dictates  of  virtue  and  right  reason,  has  two  perpetual 
sources  of  cheerfulness,  in  the  consideration  of  his  own  nature, 
and  of  that  Being  on  whom  he  has  a  dependence.  If  he  looks 
into  himself,  he  cannot  but  rejoice  in  that  existence,  which  is 
so  lately  bestowed  upon  him,  and  which,  after  millions  of  ages, 
will  be  still  new,  and  still  in  its  beginning.  How  many  self- 
congratulations  naturally  arise  on  the  mind,  when  it  reflects 
on  this  its  entrance  into  eternity,  when  it  takes  a  view  of  those 
improvable  faculties,  which  in  a  few  years,  and  even  at  its  first 
setting  out,  have  made  so  considerable  a  progress,  and  which 
will  be  still  receiving  an  increase  of  perfection,  and  conse- 
quently an  increase  of  happiness  I  The  consciousness  of  such 
a  being  spreads  a  perpetual  diff'usion  of  joy  through  the  soul 
of  a  virtuous  man,  and  makes  him  look  upon  himself,  every 
moment,  as  more  happy  than  he  knows  how  to  conceive. 

<  The  second  source  of  cheerfulness  to  a  good  mind,  is,  its 
consideration  of  that  Being  on  whom  we  have  our  dependence, 
and  on  whom,  though  we  behold  him  as  yet  but  in  the  first 
faint  discoveries  of  his  perfections,  we  see  everything  that  we 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. '  VARIATION.'  261 

can  imagine  as  great,  glorious,  or  amiable.  We  find  ourselves 
everywhere  upheld  by  his  goodness,  and  surrounded  with  an 
immensity  of  love  and  mercy.  In  short,  we  depend  upon  a 
Being,  whose  power  qualifies  him  to  make  us  happy  by  an 
infinity  of  means,  whose  goodness  and  truth  engage  him  to 
make  those  happy  who  desire  it  of  him,  and  whose  unchange- 
ableness  will  secure  us  in  this  happiness  to  all  eternity. 

*  Such  considerations,  which  every  one  should  perpetually 
cherish  in  his  thoughts,  will  banish  from  us  all  that  secret 
heaviness  of  heart  which  unthinking  men  are  subject  to  when 
they  lie  under  no  real  affliction, — all  that  anguish  which  we 
may  feel  from  any  evil  that  actually  oppresses  us, — to  which 
I  may  likewise  add  those  little  cracklings  of  mirth  and  folly, 
that  are  apter  to  betray  virtue  than  support  it ;  and  establish 
in  us  such  an  even  and  cheerful  temper,  as  makes  us  pleasing 
to  ourselves,  to  those  with  whom  we  converse,  and  to  Him 
whom  we  are  made  to  please.' 

EXERCISES  IN  '  VARIATION.' 

The  term  *  variation,'  in  its  relations  to  elocution,  is  used 
as  a  convenient  designation  for  the  change  of  '  expression,' 
which  occurs  in  passing  from  the  utterance  of  one  emotion  to 
that  of  another,  in  successive  reading  or  speaking.  It  is,  in 
reality,  nothing  else  than  true  expression,  adapted  to  the  va- 
riations of  feeling,  in  consecutive  passages.  The  term  '  modu- 
lation' is  in  popular  language,  often  employed, — though  in- 
correctly, as  regards  musical  nomenclature, — to  designate  the 
changes  of  voice  which  arise  from  change  of  feeling. 

The  actual  variation,  however,  by  whatever  name  it  may 
be  called,  is  felt,  by  all  hearers,  to  be  an  essential  point  in 
elocution,  as  the  only  means  of  rendering  sentiment  natural 
or  impressive  to  the  ear.  An  unvaried  voice,  as  contrasted 
with  one  which  gives  a  change  of  effect  to  every  new  turn  of 
thought  or  feeling,  is,  relatively,  as  the  dead  body  contrasted 
with  the  living  man.  The  student  cannot  be  too  careful  to 
repeat  exercises  such  as  the  following,  till  his  voice  has  ac- 


262  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

quired  perfect  flexibility,  and  the  full  power  of  instant  change 
of  effect,  from  the  style  of  one  emotion  to  that  of  another. 
Some  passages  require  frequent  and  entire  changes  of  every 
trait  of  voice,  to  keep  up  with  the  perpetually  shifting  effect 
of  sentiment  and  expression,  in  the  language  of  the  composi- 
tion.— The  following  are  but  a  few  specimens  of  the  requisite 
exercises  in  this  department  of  elocution  ;  but  they  may  suf- 
fice to  suggest  the  mode  in  which  practice  should  be  con- 
ducted. 

Invocation  of  Light. — Mihon. 

SiMimity. 
*  Orotund  Quality,'  Full  Force, '  Median  Stress,' '  Low'  Pitch,  Prevalent 
'  Falling  Inflection,'  and  '  Monotone,' '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses, 
Moderate  Emphasis,  Powerful '  Expression.' 

*  Hail  holy  Light !  offspring  of  Heaven  first-born, 
Or  of  the  Eternal  co-eternal  beam 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?     Since  God  is  Light, 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity ;  dwelt  then  in  thee. 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate  ! 
Or  hear'st  thou,  rather,  pure  ethereal  stream 
Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  1     Before  the  sun 
Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and,  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters,  dark  and  deep. 
Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 
Thee  I  revisit  now  with  bolder  wing, 
Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detained 
In  that  obscure  sojourn,  while  on  my  flight 
Through  utter  and  through  middle  darkness  borne, 
With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre 
I  sung  of  chaos  and  eternal  night. 
Taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 
The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  re-ascend. 
Though  hard  and  rare. — Thee  I  revisit  safe, 
And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  TARIATION.*  263 

Deep  Pathos. 

Quality'  as  before,  Force  '  Subdued,' '  Stress'  as  before,  '  Lowest'  Pitch, 
'  Semitone'  and  plaintive  effect  of  '  minor'  intervals, '  Slowest  Move- 
ment,' Pauses  as  before.  Tender  and  subdued  '  Expression.' 

<  But  thou 
Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn  ; 
So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  suffusion  veiled. 

Tranquillity^  Solemnity,  and  Sublimity. 

Quality'  as  before,  Force  '  Moderate,' '  Stress'  as  before, '  Middle'  Pitch, 
'  Inflection'  varied,  '  Movement'  and  Pauses  '  Moderate,'  '  Expression' 
moderate. 

*  Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  muses  haunt 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill ; 
Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song.     But  chief 
Thee  Zion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath. 
That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  I  visit ;  nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two,  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 
(So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown,) 
Blind  Thamyris  and  blind  Mseonides, 
And  Tiresias  and  Phineus,  prophets  old ; 

Beauty, — added  to  the  preceding  emotions. 

'  Quality'  as  before.  Force  softened, '  Stress'  as  before.  Pitch  deepened, 
Prevalent '  Monotone,' '  Movement'  slower,  Pauses  longer,  '  Expres- 
sion' ardent  but  gentle. 

'  Then  feed  on  thoughts  that  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.     Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return. 


264  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Deep  Pathos. 

'  Quality'  as  before,  Force  '  Subdued,'  '  Stress'  as  before.  Pitch  '  Low,' 
Prevalent  '  Semitone'  and  occasional  '  Minor  Thirds,'  '  Movement 
Slow,'  Pauses  long, '  Expression'  deeply  plaintive. 

*  But  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine  ; 

Deep  Grief  and  Melancholy. 

'  Aspirated  Orotund  Quality,'  Force  '  Suppi'essed,'*  '  Vanishing  Stress,' 

*  Lowest'  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Slowest  Movement,' 
Long  Pauses,  Strong  Emphasis,  Intense  '  Expression.' 

*  But  cloud,  instead,  and  ever  during  dark 
Surround  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off ;  and,  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair, 
Presented  with  a  universal  blank 

Of  Nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased  ; 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

Sublime  and  Devout  Aspiration. 

'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  Earnest  and  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Median 
Stress,'  'Middle'  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection,' '  Moderate  Move- 
ment, Moderate  Pauses,  Strong  Emphasis,  Intense  '  Expression.' 

*  So  much  the  rather,  thou,  celestial  Light, 

Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 
Irradiate ;  there  plant  eyes  ;  all  mists  from  thence 
Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 
Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight !' 

Soliloquy  of  Satan. — Milton. 

Hatred. 
'  Aspirated  Orotund  Quality,'  Intense  Force,  '  Thorough  Stress,'  Pitch 
varying  from  '  Low'  to  '  Middle,'  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection,' '  Move- 

*  The  distinction  between  '  suppressed'  and  '  subdued'  ^orce,  is  that 
the  latter  is  '  pure,'  the  former  '  aspirated.'  '  Subdued'  force  merges  the 
breath  wholly  in  sound :  '  suppressed'  force  merges,  partially,  sound  in 
breath, — and  causes  a  slightly  hoarse  or  whispering  effect  to  the  ear. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  VARIATION.'  265 

ment'  varying  from  '  Slow'  to  '  Moderate,'  and  thence  to  '  Rapid,' 
Pauses  varying  in  length  with  the  rate  of  the  '  Movement,'  Intense 
Emphasis,  and  Fierce  '  Expression.' 

*  O  thou,  that  with  surpassing  glory  crowned, 
Look'st  from  thy  sole  dominion  like  the  god 
Of  this  new  world,  at  whose  sight  all  the  stars 
Hide  their  diminished  heads,  to  thee  I  call, 
But  with  no  friendly  voice,  and  add  thy  name 

0  sun  !  to  tell  thee  how  I  hate  thy  beams,. 

Regret 

'Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  Softened  Force,  '  Median  Stress,'  '  Low'  Pitch,. 
Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection'  of  '  Minor  Third,'  '  Slow  Movement,!' 
Long  Pauses,  Subdued  '  Expression/ 

*  That  bring  to  my  remembrance  from  what  state 

1  fell,  how  glorious  once  ! — above  thy  sphere, 
Till  pride  and  worse  ambition  threw  me  down, 

•     Warring  in  heaven  against  heaven'^s  matchless  king. — 

Retnorse. 
Style,  in  al  respects,  as  before  but '  Expression'  deepened  in  every  traits 

*  Ah  !  wherefore  ?     He  deserved  no  such  returm 
Of  me,  whom  he  created  what  I  was 

In  that  bright  eminence,  and  with  his  good 
Upbraided  none.     Nor  was  his  service  hard. 
What  could  be  less  than  to  afford  him  praise, 
The  easiest  recompense,  and  pay  him  thanks 
How  due ! — 

Sdf- Reproach. 
Style,  as  before,  but  deepened,  and  rendered  more  intense,  throughout. 
'  Yet  all  his  good  proved  ill  in  me, 
And  wrought  but  malice  ;  lifted  up  so  high, 
I  'sdained  subjection,  and  thought  one  step  higher 
Would  set  me  highest,  and  in  a  moment  quit 
The  debt  immense  of  endless  gratitude 
So  burdensome,  still  paying,  still  to  owe : 
Forgetful  what  from  him  I  still  received  j 
23 


266  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

And  understood  not  that  a  grateful  mind 
By  owing  owes  not,  but  still  pays,  at  once 
Indebted  and  discharged. — What  burden  then  ? 

Grief  and  Regret 
*  Pare  Orotund  Quality,'  Intense  but '  Subdued'  Force, '  Vanishing'  and 
tremulous  '  Stress,'  Pitch  varying  from  '  High'  to  '  Middle,' '  Plaintive 
Inflection'  of '  Minor  Third,'  '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  '  Ex- 
pression' intense,  but  plaintive  and  subdued. 

'  Oh  !  had  his  powerful  destiny  ordained 
Me  some  inferior  angel,  I  had  stood 
Then  happy  ;  no  unbounded  hope  had  raised 
Ambition  I 

Hesitation. 
'  Aspirated   Orotund   Quality,'  '  Suppressed'  Force,    '  Eadical   Stress,* 
'  High'  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Moderate  Movement,* 
Pauses  Long,  Earnest '  Expression.' 

*  Yet  why  not  ? — some  other  power 
As  great  might  have  aspired,  and  me,  though  mean, 
Drawn  to  his  part. 

Envy. 
'Aspirated  Pectoral  and  Guttural  Quality,'  'Impassioned'  Force, 'Ex- 
plosive  Radical   Stress,'   'Low'  Rtch,  'Falling  Inflection,'  'Rapid 
Movement,'  Brief  Pauses,  Intense  Emphasis,  Fierce  '  Expression.' 

*-  But  other  powers  as  great 
Fell  not,  but  stand  unshaken, — from  within 
Or  from  without, — ^to  all  temptation  armed. 

Self-Reproach. 
•Aspirated  Orotund  Quality,'  Intense  Force,  ' Explosive  Radical' and 
'  Vanishing  Stress,'  High  Pitch,  Varied  Inflection,  '  Movement'  vary- 
ing from  '  Rapid'  to  '  Slow,'  Pauses  varying  from  brief  to  long,  Ear- 
nest Emphasis,  Strong  '  Expression.' 
'  Hadst  thou  the  same  free  will  and  power  to  stand  ? 
Thou  hadst :  whom  hast  thou,  then,  or  what  to  accuse, 
But  heaven's  free  love,  dealt  equally  to  all  ? 

Imprecation. 
'  Aspu^ted  Pectoral  and  Guttural  Quality,'  Utmost '  Impassioned  Force,* 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. 'VARIATION.*  267 

*  Explosive  Radical  Stress,'  '  Low'  Pitch,  Deep  '  Falling  Inflection,' 

*  Movement'  varying  from  '  Rapid'  to  '  Slow,'  Pauses  varying  from 
brief  to  long.  Strongest  Emphasis, '  Expression'  varying  from  fierceness 
to  grief. 

*  Be  then  his  love  accursed !  since  love  or  hate 
To  me  alike  it  deals  eternal  wo : 

Nay  cursed  be  thou  ;  since  against  his  thy  will 
Chose  freely  what  it  now  so  justly  rues. 

Distraction^  Agony,  Hotror,  and  Despair. 

*  Quality'  varying  from  '  Aspirated  Orotund'  to  harshest  Guttural  and 

Pectoral  Utterance,  Force  varying  from  the  utmost  intensity  to  sup- 
pression, '  Vanishing  Stress,'  Pitch  varying  from  '  High'  to  '  Lowest,' 
Deep  '  Falling  Inflection,' '  Movement'  varying  from  '  Slow'  to  '  Rap- 
id,' Pauses  varying  from  long  to  brief,  Intensest  Emphasis  and  '  Ex- 
pression.' 

*  Me  miserable ! — which  way  shall  I  fly 
Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair  ? 
Which  way  I  fly  is  hell ;  myself  am  hell ; 
And  in  the  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep 

Still  threatening  to  devour  me  opens  wide  ; 
To  which  the  hell  I  suffer  seems  a  heaven. 

Contrition. 
'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,' '  Subdued'  Force,  Gentle  '  Vanishing  and  trem- 
ulous Stress,' '  High  Pitch,'  Plaintive  '  Inflection'  of  '  Minor  Third,' 

*  Slowest  Movement,'  Pauses  extremely  long.  Softened  and  tender 

*  Expression.' 

^  Oh !  then  at  last  relent, — Is  there  no  place 
Left  for  repentance,  none  for  pardon  left  ? 

Scorn. 

*  Aspirated  Orotund  Quality,'  *  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Explosive  Radical 

Stress,' '  Middle'  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Brisk  Move- 
ment,' Pauses  short,  Vehement  Emphasis,  Abrupt '  Expression. 

*  None  left  but  by  submission  ;  and  that  word 
Disdain  forbids  me,  and  my  dread  of  shame 
Among  the  spirits  beneath,  whom  I  seduced 
With  other  promises  and  other  vaunts 
Than  to  submit,  boasting  I  could  subdue 
The  Omnipotent. 


268  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Deep  Regret  and  Despair. 
'  Aspirated  Pectoral  Quality,' '  Impassioned'  Force,  *  Vanishing  Stress,' 
'  Low*  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection'  of  the '  Fifth,' '  Slow  Move- 
ment,' Long  Pauses,  Intense  Emphasis  and  '  Expression.' 

'  Ah  me !  they  little  know 
How  dearly  I  abide  that  boast  so  vain, 
Under  what  torments  inwardly  I  groan, 
"While  they  adore  me  on  the  throne  of  hell, 
With  diadem  and  sceptre  high  advanced, 
The  lower  still  I  fall,  only  supreme 
In  misery :  such  joy  ambition  finds. 

Reflection  and  Deliberation. 
'Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  'Moderate'  Force,  'Radical  Stress,'  'Middle' 
Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection,' '  Movement'  varying  from '  Mod- 
erate' to  '  Animated,'  Pauses  varying  from  moderate  to  brief.  Empha- 
sis and  '  Expression'  increasing  in  intensity  from  moderate  to  fierce. 

*  But  say  I  could  repent,  and  could  obtain 
By  act  of  grace  my  former  state  ;  how  soon 
Would  height  recall  high  thoughts,  how  soon  unsay 
What  feigned  submission  swore !  Ease  would  recant 
Vows  made  in  pain,  as  violent  and  void. 

For  never  can  true  reconcilement  grow 
Where  wounds  of  deadly  hate  have  pierced  so  deep ; 
Which  would  but  lead  me  to  a  worse  relapse 
And  heavier  fall ;  so  should  I  purchase  dear 
Short  intermission  bought  with  double  smart. 
This  knows  my  Punisher ;  therefore  as  far 
From  granting  he  as  I  from  begging  peace. 

3falice. 
•  Aspirated  Pectoral  and  Guttural  Quality,'  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Van- 
ishing Stress,'  'Low'  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection'  of  the  'Fifth,' 
'  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Emphasis  and  '  Expression'  intense. 

*  All  hope  excluded  thus,  behold,  instead 
Of  us  outcast,  exiled,  his  new  delight 
Mankind  created,  and  for  him  this  world. 

Defiance  and  Revenge. 
'  Quality'  varying  from  '  Aspirated  Pectoral,  to  '  Pure  Orotund,'  and  re- 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  VARIATION.'  269 

verting  to  the  former, — '  Impassioned'  Force,  of  the  utmost  intensity, — 
♦  Thorough  Stress,'  Pitch  varying  from  '  Low'  to  '  High,'  and  reverting 
to  the  former,—'  Movement'  varying  from  '  Slow'  to  '  Rapid,'  reverting 
to  '  Slow'  and  again  to  '  Rapid,'  and  closing  with  '  Slow,'— Pauses  va- 
rying with  the  rate  of  '  Movement,'  Emphasis  and '  Expression'  of  the 
deepest  and  fiercest  character. 
*  So  farewell  hope  ;  and  with  hope,  farewell  fear, 
Farewell  remorse :  all  good  to  me  is  lost; 
Evil,  be  thou  my  good ;  by  thee  at  least 
Divided  empire  with  heaven's  king  I  hold. 
By  thee  ;  and  more  than  half  perhaps  will  reign, 
As  man  ere  long,  and  this  new  world  shall  know.' 


The  Dying  Christian. — ^Pope. 
Awe. 
'  Gently  Aspirated  Pectoral  Quality,'    '  Suppressed  Eorce,'    *  Median 
Stress,'    'Lowest  Pitch,'    'Monotone,'   'Slowest  Movement,'   Long 
Pauses, '  Expression'  intensely  earnest  hut  subdued. 

<  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame, 

Longing. 
« Pure  Tone,'  Earnest  but  '  Subdued'  Force,' '  Vanishing  Stress,' '  High' 
Pitch,  Plaintive  '  Semitone,'  '  Slow  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  '  Ex- 
pression' as  before. 

<  Quit,  oh !  quit  this  mortal  frame  ! 

Fear. 
'  Aspirated  Quality,'  '  Suppressed'  Force,  Tremulous  '  Stress,'  '  High' 
Pitch,  '  Semitone,'  '  Slowest  Movement,'  Very  long  pause  preceding 
and  following, '  Expression'  soft  but  extremely  vivid. 

*  Trembling, 

Joy. 

*  Pure  Tone,'  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Median  Stress,'  '  Highest'  Pitch, 

*  Falling  Inflection,'  Lively  Movement,'  Intense  '  Expression.' 

hoping. 

Languor. 

•  Pure  Tone,'  '  Subdued'  Force,  '  Median  Stress,'  '  High'  Pitch,  '  Semi- 

tone,' '  Slowest  Movement,'  Feeble  and  Plaintive  '  Expression.' 

lingering, 
23* 


270  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


Ardour. 


•  Aspirated  Orotund,' '  Impassioned'  Force, '  Thorough  Stress,'  '  Middle' 
Pitch,  '  Falling  Inflection,' '  Rapid  Movement,'  Vivid  '  Expression.' 

flying,— 
Anguish. 
•Aspirated  Orotund,'  'Impassioned'  Force,  ' Median  Stress,'  'Highest' 
Pitch,  Plaintive  Double  Inflection,^  'Slowest  Movement,'  Intense 
'  Expression.' 

*  Oh !  the  pain, — 

Rapture. 

'Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  Intense  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Radical  Stress,' 
'  High'  Pitch,  '  Falling  Inflection'  of  the  '  Fifth,'  '  Lively  Movement,' 
Vivid '  Expression.' 

the  bliss  of  dying ! 

Entreaty. 

Slightly  '  Aspirated  Quality,'  Earnest  but  '  Subdued'  Force,  '  Tremu- 
lous '  Stress, '  High'  Pitch, '  Falling  Inflection'  of '  Semitone'  and  '  Mi- 
nor Third,'  '  Slow'  Movement,  Feeble  Emphasis,  Long  Pauses,  Plain- 
tive and  languid '  Expression.' 

Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  iato  life ! 

Extreme  Earnestness. 

'Half- whisper,  '  Suppressed'  Force,  '  Explosive  Radical  Stress,'  '  High' 
Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Animated  Movement,'  Earnest 
Emphasis,'  Brief  Pauses,  Intense  '  Expression.' 

*  Hark  !  they  whisper — angels  say, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away." — 

Awe  and  Astonishment. 

•*  Aspirated  Pectoral  Quality,'  '  Suppressed'  Force,  '  Explosive  Radical 
Stress,' '  Low'  Pitch  gradually  descending  to  '  Lowest,'  '  Poetic  Inflec- 

*  '  Falling  Circumflex,'  or  '  Direct  Wave  with  '  Minor  Third.'  The 
former  designation  is  presented  for  the  convenience  of  students  of 
"Walker's  system.  The  latter  is  the  more  exact  and  the  true  scientific 
distinction,  as  in  the  analysis  of  Dr.  Rush. 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. — *  VARIATION.'  271 

tion'  of '  Upward  Second,' '  Slowest  Movement,'  Exhausted  Emphasis, 
Long  Pauses, '  Expression'  suppressed. 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ?— 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  —  death  ?  — 

Wonder. 
'  Aspirated  Orotund,'  Intense  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Explosive  Radical 
Stress,'  '  High'  Pitch,  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Rapid  Movement,'  Brief 
Pauses,  Intense  Emphasis  and  '  Expression.' 

*  The  world  recedes !  it  disappears ! 

Bapture,  Exultation,  and  Triumph. 
'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,' '  Impassioned'  Force,  approaching  to  Shouting, 
'  Thorough  Stress,'  '  High'  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection'  of  the 
'  Fifth,'  '  Movement'  '  Rapid'  and  constantly  accelerating  in  the  first 
three  of  the  following  lines,  then  retarded  hy  the  full  and  prolonged 
swell  of  triumph,  in  the  last  two  lines, — Pauses  corresponding  to  the 
rate  of '  Movement,'  Emphasis  intense, '  Expression'  ecstatic. 

Heaven  opens  to  mine  eyes  ! — mine  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring ! 
Lend,  lend  your  wings ! — I  mount !  I  fly ! 
O  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  death !  where  is  thy  sting  ?'* 

The  Enterprise  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  New  England. — 
Edward  Everett. 

Didactic  Sentiment. 

'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  '  Moderate'  Force,  Unimpassioned  '  Radical 
Stress,'  '  Middle'  Pitch,  Varied  '  Inflection,' — '  Moderate' '  Movement,' 
Pauses,  and  Emphasis, — '  Expression'  rising  from  moderate  to  ani- 
ma^d. 

*  As  in  private  character,  adversity  is  often  requisite  to 
give  a  proper  direction  and  temper  to  strong  qualities ;  so  the 


*  The  above  example  was  selected  intentionally,  as  an  impressive  les- 
son on  the  extent  to  which  lyric  poetry, — and,  particularly,  sacred  lyrics,— 
carry  the  variation  of  vocal  expression.  The  hymn  quoted  is  the  highest 
fhght  of  the  h«man  soul,  in  this  form ;  and  the  utterance  is  necessarily 
carried  to  ecstasy,  in  its  effect, — if  the  spirit  of  the  poetry  is  thrown  into 
the  voice. 


272  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

noblest  traits  of  national  character,  even  under  the  freest  and 
most  independent  of  hereditary  governments,  are  commonly 
to  be  sought  in  the  ranks  of  a  protesting  minority,  or  of  a  dis- 
senting sect.  Never  was  this  truth  more  clearly  illustrated 
than  in  the  settlement  of  New  England. 

*  Could  a  common  calculation  of  policy  have  dictated  the 
terms  of  that  settlement,  no  doubt  our  foundations  would  have 
been  laid  beneath  the  royal  smile.  Convoys  and  navies 
would  have  been  solicited  to  waft  our  fathers  to  the  coast ; 
armies,  to  defend  the  infant  communities ;  and  the  flattering 
patronage  of  princes  and  lords,  to  espouse  their  interests  in 
the  councils  of  the  mother  country. 

Oratorical  Sentiment. 

'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,'  '  Declamatory'  Force,  '  Thorough  Stress'  of 
moderate  energy,  '  Middle'  Pitch, — Vai'ied  '  Inflection,'  but  prevalent 
'  Downward  Slide'  of  the  '  Fifth'  and  '  Third,' — '  Moderate'  '  Move- 
ment' and  Pauses,  Energetic  Emphasis,  Vivid  '  Expression.' 

*  Happy,  that  our  fathers  enjoyed  no  such  patronage; 
happy,  that  they  fell  into  no  such  protecting  hands ;  happy, 
that  our  foundations  were  silently  and  deeply  cast  in  quiet  in- 
significance, beneath  a  charter  of  banishment,  persecution,  and 
contempt;  so  that  when  the  royal  arm  was  at  length  out- 
stretched against  us,  instead  of  a  submissive  child,  tied  down 
by  former  gi'aces,  it  found  a  youthful  giant  in  the  land,  born 
amidst  hardships,  and  nourished  on  the  rocks,  indebted  for  no 
favours,  and  owing  no  duty.  From  the  dark  portals  of  the 
star-chamber,  and  in  the  stern  text  of  the  acts  of  uniformity, 
the  pilgrims  received  a  commission,  more  efficient,  than  any 
that  ever  bore  the  royal  seal.  Their  banishment  to  Holland 
was  fortunate ;  the  decline  of  their  little  company  in  the  strange 
land,  was  fortunate ;  the  difficulties  which  they  experienced 
in  getting  the  royal  consent  to  banish  themselves  to  this  wil- 
derness, were  fortunate ;  all  the  tears  and  heart  breakings  of 
that  ever  memorable  parting  at  Delfthaven,  had  the  happiest 
influence  on  the  rising  destinies  of  New  England.  All  this 
purified  the  ranks  of  the  settlers.     These  rough  touches  of 


ELEMENTARY  EXERCISES. *  VARIATION.'  273 

fortune  brushed  off  the  light,  uncertain,  selfish  spirits.  They 
made  it  a  grave,  solemn,  self-denying  expedition,  and  re- 
quired of  those  who  engaged  in  it,  to  be  so  too.  They  cast  a 
broad  shadow  of  thought  and  seriousness  over  the  cause  ;* 
and  if  this  sometimes  deepened  into  melancholy  and  bitter- 
ness, can  we  find  no  apology  for  such  a  human  weakness  ? 

Pathetic  Description. 

'  Pure  Orotund  Quality,' '  Subdued'  Force, '  Median  Stress,' '  Low'  Pitch, 
Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection'  of  '  Minor  Third,'  '  Slow  Movement,' 
Long  Pauses,  Softened  Emphasis,  Grave  and  plaintive  '  Expression.' 

*  It  is  sad  indeed  to  reflect  on  the  disasters,  which  the  little 
band  of  pilgrims  encountered.  Sad  to  see  a  portion  of  them, 
the  prey  of  unrelenting  cupidity,  treacherously  embarked  in 
an  unsound,  unseaworthy  ship,  v/hich  they  are  soon  obliged 
to  abandon,  and  crowd  themselves  into  one  vessel ;  one  hun- 
dred persons,  besides  the  ship's  company,  in  a  vessel  of  one 
hundred  and  sixty  tons.  One  is  touched  at  the  story  of  the 
long,  cold,  and  weary  autumnal  passage ;  of  the  landing  on  the 
inhospitable  rocks  at  this  dismal  season ;  where  they  are  de- 
serted before  long  by  the  ship,  which  had  brought  them,  and 
which  seemed  their  only  hold  upon  the  world  of  fellow-men,  a 
prey  to  the  elements  and  to  want,  and  fearfully  ignorant  of 
the  numbers,  the  power,  and  the  temper  of  the  savage  tribes, 
that  filled  the  unexplored  continent,  upon  whose  verge  they 
had  ventured. 

Energetic  Declamation. 

'  Orotund  Quality,'  '  Declamatory'  Force,  Moderate  '  Thorough  Stress,' 
'  Middle'  Pitch,  Prevalent  '  Falling  Inflection,'  '  Moderate'  '  Move- 
ment' and  Pauses,  Energetic  Emphasis,  Strong  '  Expression.' 

*  But  all  this  wrought  together  for  good.  These  trials  of 
wandering  and  exile,  of  the  ocean,  the  winter,  the  wilderness, 
and  the  savage  foe,  were  the  final  assurance  of  success.  It 
was  these  that  put  far  away  from  our  fathers'  cause,  all  patri- 

*  Here  the  expression  varies  suddenly  to  the  style  of  subdued  ^ud 
gentle  appeal. 


274  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

cian  softness,  all  hereditary  claims  to  preeminence.  No  ef- 
feminate nobility  crowded  into  the  dark  and  austere  ranks  of 
the  pilgrims.  No  Carr  or  Villiers  would  lead  on  the  ill-pro- 
Tided  band  of  despised  puritans.  No  well-endowed  clergy 
■were  on  the  alert,  to  quit  their  cathedrals,  and  set  up  a  pom- 
pous hierarchy  in  the  frozen  wilderness.  No  craving  gov- 
ernors were  anxious  to  be  sent  over  to  our  cheerless  El  Do- 
rado of  ice  and  snow.  No,  they  could  not  say  they  had  en- 
couraged, patronized,  or  helped  the  pilgrims :  their  own  cares, 
their  own  labors,  their  own  councils,  their  own  blood,  con- 
trived all,  achieved  all,  bore  all,  sealed  all.  They  could  not 
afterwards  ff^irly  pretend  to  reap.^here  they  had  not  strown; 
and  as  our  fathers  reared  this  broad  and  solid  fabric  with  pains 
and  watchfulness,  unaided,  barely  tolerated,  it  did  not  fall 
when  the  favour,  which  had  always  been  withholden,  was 
changed  into  wrath ;  when  the  arm  which  had  never  sup- 
ported, was  raised  to  destroy. 

Pathetic  Description. 

Style  of  doculion,  as  in  the  example  of  the  same  species  of  rhetorical  style, 
on  the  preceding  page. 

*  Methinks  I  see  it  now,  that  one  solitary,  adventurous  ves- 
sel, the  Mayflower  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the  pros- 
pects of  a  future  state,  and  bound  across  the  unknown  sea. 
I  behold  it  pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the  uncer- 
tain, the  tedious  voyage.  Suns  rise  and  set,  and  weeks  and 
months  pass,  and  winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep,  but 
brings  them  not  the  sight  of  the  wished-for  shore.  I  see  them 
now  scantily  supplied  with  provisions,  crowded  almost  to  suf- 
focation in  their  ill-stored  prison,  delayed  by  calms,  pursuinga 
circuitous  route  ; — and  now  driven  in  fury  before  the  raging 
tempest,  on  the  high  and  giddy  waves. 

Awe  and  Horror. 

Partially  '  Aspirated  Quality,'  '  Impassioned'  Force,  '  Thorough  Stress,' 
'  Low'  Pitch,  Prevalent '  Falling  Inflection'  of  the  '  Fifth,' '  Slow  Move- 
ment,' Long  Pauses,  Intense  Emphasis,  and  '  Expression.' 

*  The  awful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  through  the  rigging. 


ELEMENTARY   EXERCISES. *  YARIATION.'  275 

The  labouring  masts  seem  strained  from  their  base ;  the  dis- 
mal sound  of  the  pumps  is  heard  ; — the  ship  leaps,  as  it  were, 
madly,  from  billow  to  billow ; — the  ocean  breaks,  and  settles 
with  engulphing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and  beats  with 
deadening,  shivering  weight,  against  the  staggered  vessel. 

Pathetic  Description. 
Style,  as  before. 

*  I  see  them,  escaped  from  these  perils,  pursuing  their  all 
but  desperate  undertaking,  and  landed  at  last,  after  a  five 
months'  passage,  on  the  ice-clad  rocks  of  Plymouth, — weak 
and  weary  from  the  voyage, — poorly  armed,  scantily  provis- 
ioned, depending  on  the  charity  of  their  ship-master  for  a 
draught  of  beer  on  board,  drinking  nothing  but  water  on  shore, 
— without  shelter, — without  means, — surrounded  by  hostile 

tribes. 

Oratorical  Apostrophe. 

'  Orotund  Quality,'  '  Declamatory'  Eorce,  '  Thorough  Stress,'  '  Middle* 
Pitch.  Prevalent '  Palling  Inflection,'  of  the  '  Fifth,' '  Moderate' '  Move- 
ment,' and  Pauses,  Energetic  Emphasis,  and  bold  'Expression,' 

*  Shut  now  the  volume  of  history ;  and  tell  me,  on  any 
principle  of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of  this 
handful  of  adventurers. — Tell  me,  man  of  military  science,  in 
how  many  months  were  they  all  swept  off  by  the  thirty  savage 
tribes,  enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New  England  ? 
Tell  me,  politician,  how  long  did  this  shadow  of  a  colony,  on 
which  your  conventions  and  treaties  had  not  smiled,  languish 
on  the  distant  coast  ?  Student  of  history,  compare  for  me  the 
bafiled  projects,  the  deserted  settlements,  the  abandoned  adven- 
tures of  other  times,  and  find  the  parallel  of  this. 

Earnest  Inteirogation. 
'  Quality'  and  Force,  as  before, — '  Radical  Stress,'  '  High'  Pitch,  '  Rising 
Inflection'  of  the '  Third,' '  Moderate  Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Earnest 
Emphasis  and  '  Expression.' 

*  Was  it  the  winter's  storm,  beating  upon  the  houseless  heads 
of  women  and  children  ;  was  it  hard  labour  and  spare  meals  ; 
— was  it  disease, — was  it  the  tomahawk, — was  it  the  deep 


276  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined  enterprise,  and  a  broken 
heart,  aching  in  its  last  moments,  at  the  recollection  of  the 
loved  and  left,  beyond  the  sea :  was  it  some,  or  all  of  these 
united,  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company  to  their  melancholy 
fate?— 

Astonishment. 

Slightly  *  Aspirated  Quality,'  '  Declamatory'  Force,  '  Compound  Stress,' 
'  Highest'  Pitch, '  Rising  Inflection,'  of  the  '  Fifth'  and  '  Octave,'  '  Slow 
Movement,'  Long  Pauses,  Intense  Emphasis  and  '  Expression.' 

*  And  is  it  possible  that  neither  of  these  causes,  that  not  all 
combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope  ? — *Is  it  pos- 
sible, that  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  worthy,  not 
so  much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone  forth  a  pro- 
gress so  steady,  a  growth  so  wonderful,  an  expansion  so  am- 
ple, a  reality  so  important,  a  promise,  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  so 
glorious  ?* 

*  The  effect  of  increasing  astonishment  is  to  produce  '  impassioned' 
force,  '  vanishing  stress,'  and  '  falling  infiections'  of  the  '  fifth,'  in  the  last 
sentence. 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


The  mechanical  and  unmeaning  style  of  reading,  whiclu 
arises  from  prevalent  defects  in  early  education,  is  nowhere 
more  perceptible  or  more  injurious  in  effect,  than  when  ex- 
emplified in  a  passage  of  Scripture.  With  the  language  of 
the  sacred  volume  are  associated  all  the  highest  thoughts  and 
profoundest  emotions  of  which  the  soul  is  susceptible ;  and 
our  utterance,  in  the  reading  of  its  pages,  ought  to  be  the  ex-^ 
pression  of  such  states  of  mind.  But  no  book,  generally 
speaking,  is  read  with  less  of  appropriate  feeling  or  expres- 
sive sense. 

The  Scriptures  are  not  unfrequently  read  with  tones  which 
do  not  indicate  any  personal  interest,  on  the  part  of  the  read- 
er, in  the  sentiments  which  he  is  uttering.  The  effect  of  the 
cold,  dry  style,  commonly  adopted  in  reading  the  Bible,  is- 
often,  indeed,  rendered  utterly  absurd,  when  the  attention 
happens,  for  a  moment,  to  fall  on  the  oriental  fervour  and 
sublimity  of  the  style  of  language,  in  contrast  with  the  mea-^ 
gre  and  shabby  effect  of  the  readers'  voice.  The  words,  in 
such  cases,  speak  of  God  and  of  eternity,  in  strains  which  the 
undebased  mind  associates  with  the  vastness  of  the  overhang- 
ing firmament,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  reverberating  thun- 
der ;  but  the  reader's  tone  is  that  of  the  coolest  indifference, 
or  of  an  affair  ordinary  and  trivial.  The  fault  of  a  cold,  in- 
expressive voice,  is  often  the  result  of  an  anxiety  to  shun  all 
appearance  of  assumed  and  imposing  style,  and  to  allow  the 
hearer  to  feel  for  himself,  the  solemnity  of  the  subject.  But 
24 


m   A^ 


I?- 


278  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

as  it  is  destitute  of  the  natural  indication  of  earnestness,  in 
the  reader,  it  deadens  the  sympathy  of  the  hearer. 

Another  error  in  the  style  of  reading,  is  that  of  loading  the 
words  of  Scripture  with  a  formal,  unwieldy,  and  unmeaning 
tone,  which  aims  at  a  certain  solemn  dignity  of  effect,  but  on- 
ly reaches  a  very  unmusical  song. 

Sometimes,  a  third  fault  is  incurred,  by  a  desire  to  break 
through  the  trammels  of  conventional  restraint,  and  produce 
a  lively  impression  on  the  mind,  by  familiar  and  vivid  tone, 
which  savours  too  much  of  ordinary  talk  by  the  fireside.  But 
coldness  and  familiarity  are  alike  forbidden,  on  subjects  which 
appeal  to  the  deepest  susceptibilities  of  the  heart. 

The  monotonous  solemnity  of  tone,  which  is  exemplified 
by  many  readers  of  the  sacred  volume,  defeats  its  own  pur- 
pose, by  a  dull  uniformity  of  effect ;  as  a  painter  would  spoil 
a  picture  by  the  exclusive  use  of  one  sombre  tint,  applied  in- 
discriminately to  scenes  of  evening,  morning,  and  midday. 
The  cold,  indifferent  reader  seems  to  forget  the  vivid  interest 
which  appropriately  belongs  to  every  subject  introduced  in 
the  pages  of  Scripture  ;  the  lively  reader  seems,  by  his  famil- 
iar and  anecdotic  style,  to  overlook  the  majesty  of  the  sacred 
volume  ;  but  the  formal  reader  seems  blind  to  all  the  varied 
beauties  of  language,  and  the  natural  and  simple  expression, 
which  pervade,  and  so  peculiarly  characterize,  both  the  Old 
Testament  and  the  New. 

The  dignity  of  the  subject,  the  sublimity  of  the  style,  the 
simplicity  of  the  language,  demand,  in  every  passage  of  Scrip- 
ture, the  mingling  effects  of  grave,  full,  and  vivid  expression. 
To  the  reading  of  the  sacred  page  should  be  brought  every 
aid  arising  from  the  deepest  impressions  on  the  heart,  the 
most  vivid  effects  of  poetic  imagination,  the  most  refining  in- 
fluences of  the  highest  intellectual  culture.  All  the  treasures 
of  knowledge,  gathered  by  excursive  thought  from  the  fields 
of  science  and  literature,  all  the  richer  and  truer  wealth  of 
life  and  experience,  which  an  individual  possesses, — and 
which  never  fails  to  modify  the  qualities  and  expression  of 
the  voice, — should  be  made  tributary  to  the  exercise  of  read- 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  279 

ing  the  sacred  Scriptures,  in  the  offices  of  devotion.  The 
spiritual  and  the  intellectual  nature  of  man  is  then,  if  ever,  at 
its  maximum  of  experience  and  of  power,  when  permitted  to 
mingle  its  workings  with  those  of  the  Divine  mind  in  revela- 
tion. 

The  defectiveness  and  poverty  of  our  modes  of  education, 
together  with  the  deadening  effects  of  habit  and  routine,  con- 
vert the  reading  of  the  most  impressive  of  all  books  into  an 
ineffectual  ceremony.  A  living  and  a  genuine  culture  in  ear- 
ly life, — a  culture  which  should  cherish  the  expressive  pow- 
ers of  man,  would  effectually  prevent  these  and  similar  results. 
That  such  would  be  the  general  issue,  no  one  can  doubt,  who 
has  observed  the  effects  of  faithful  self-culture,  in  a  single  in- 
stance. Who  can  ever  forget  the  impressions  left  on  his  mind 
by  hearing,  even  once,  a  passage  of  Scripture  read  by  the 
late  Dr.  Nettleton,  with  that  characteristic  depth  and  vivid- 
ness of  effect,  which  seemed  to  bespeak  a  soul  communing, 
face  to  face,  with  the  Invisible  ?  Who,  that  was  ever  present 
on  such  an  occasion,  can  forget  the  hushed  and  profound  at- 
tention with  which  a  congregation  would  listen  to  the  deep 
and  quiet,  but  thrilling  tones  of  Channing,  in  the  exercise  of 
reading  the  sacred  volume  ? 

The  mindless  and  heartless  style  in  which  the  Bible  is  read, 
at  school,  when  it  is  made  a  part  of  the  requisite  exercises  for 
acquiring  a  merely  mechanical  facility  in  the  process  of  read- 
ing, fastens  itself  upon  the  ear,  as  an  unconscious  standard  of 
manner,  for  life  ;  so  much  so,  that  the  majority  of  readers  in 
the  pulpit,  seem  never  to  imagine,  that  they  can  ever  so  far 
identify  themselves  with  what  they  read,  as  to  render  it  the 
common  justice  of  a  single  true  or  natural  tone  of  the  voice.* 

Could  we,  for  a  moment,  divest  ourselves  of  the  influence 
of  association,  and, — standing  aloof  from  '  things  as  they  are,' 
in  the  '  second  nature'  of  habit, — fasten  our  minds  on  the 
great  thought,  that  the  world  contains  a  volume  stamped  with 

*  The  weekly  reading  of  the  Bible,  as  a  Saturday  exercise,  in  the  par- 
ish schools  of  Scotland,  is  usually  accompanied  by  oral  explanations  from 
the  teacher,  and  thus  rendered  an  aid  to  good  reading  as  well  as  to  reli- 
gious instruction. 


280  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

the  legible  impress  of  Revelation,  would  not  our  just  expecta- 
tion be  that  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  minister  at  the  altar, 
would  covet,  above  all  acquisitions,  the  ability  to  read  it 
worthily  and  impressively  ?  At  present,  the  thing  is  not  even 
thought  of.  The  very  idea  startles  the  theological  student,  as 
something  odd.  But  when  you  come  to  inquire  into  the  case, 
you  find  that  he  has,  all  along,  had  his  mind  on  a  certain 
shabby,  dingy-looking,  much  worn  volume,  out  of  which,  in 
common  with  others  of  his  age,  he  had,  in  the  days  of  his 
boyhood,  to  learn  to  read,  at  school ;  or  from  which  he  had 
to  read  a  single  detached  verse,  in  the  daily  routine  of  family 
devotion ;  or  which,  in  the  long,  weary,  warm,  summer  sab- 
baths, he  used  to  hear  droned  over  in  the  pulpit. 

Mere  animation,  or  a  rhetorical  style,  in  reading  the  Scrip- 
tures, is  unquestionably  offensive,  both  to  just  sentiment  and 
good  taste,  and  to  be  as  carefully  avoided  as  the  other  faults 
which  have  been  enumerated.  But  while  all  artificial  and 
fancied  excellence,  is,  in  the  utterance  of  the  words  of  sacred 
truth,  a  thing  that  only  disgusts  or  shocks  a  sober  mind,  it  is 
not  less  true,  that  genuine  cultivation  and  diligent  practice, 
are  as  successful  in  this,  as  in  any  other  form  of  human  effort, 
and  that  when  the  occupants  of  our  pulpits  shall  have  ac- 
quitted themselves  in  this  as  in  other  parts  of  their  public  du- 
ties, the  power  and  authority,  and  the  daily  influence  of  the 
sacred  volume,  will  penetrate  society  to  an  extent  correspond- 
ing to  the  difference  between  a  dormant  and  an  active  life, — 
a  latent  and  an  operative  power. 


Classification  of  the  Parts  of  Scripture. 

The  Bible,  regarded  for  the  moment,  as  a  volume  which 
may  be  used  for  the  purposes  of  audible  reading,  may  be  clas- 
sified, in  rhetorical  arrangement,  as  follows : 

1.  Narrative  passages,  varying  in  style,  with  their  subjects, 
from  the  familiar  to  the  sublime, — ^as  in  the  historical  books 
of  the  Old  Testament,  and  the  Gospels,  in  the  New. 

2.  Didactic  and  doctrinal  passages, — as  in  the  Epistles, 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  281 

which,  being  addressed  to  the  understanding  and  the  reason, 
require  modifications  of  voice  in  the  forms,  chiefly,  of  inflec- 
tion, emphasis,  and  pause, — the  intellectual  instruments  of  ef- 
fect in  elocution. 

3.  Prophetic  and  Descriptive  passages, — marked  by  the 
language  of  strong  epic  and  dramatic  emotion,  and  requiring 
a  bold,  vivid,  and  expressive  style  of  voice. 

4.  Lyric  passages, — requiring  intense  expression,  in  strains 
of  joy,  pathos,  triumph,  grief,  adoration,  supplication. 


NARRATIVE  PASSAGES. 

The  ancient  rhetorical  arrangement  of  '  low,'  or  familiar, 
*  middle,'  and  *  sublime,'  or  elevated  styles,  may  be  practical- 
ly serviceable  in  arranging  the  narrative  portions  of  Scrip- 
ture, for  the  purposes  of  elocution.  The  first  division,  ('  the 
low,')  would  comprise  all  simple  and  familiar  narrations  ;  the 
last,  (*  the  sublime,')  narrative  passages  of  great  elevation  of 
style ;  the  second,  (*  the  middle,')  would  include  whatever 
forms  of  narrative  were  neither  so  familiar  as  the  first,  nor  so 
elevated  as  the  third. 

Passages  which  exemplify  the  style  of  familiar  narration, 
demand  attention  to  the  due  observance  of  two  opposite  prin- 
ciples of  expression  in  elocution, — grandeur,  and  simplicity  ; 
the  former  being  inseparable  from  sacred  subjects, — the  latter, 
from  the  peculiar  style  of  language,  in  the  Scriptures.  The 
former  mode  of  expression  in  elocution,  unmodified  by  the 
latter,  would  assume  the  form  of  deep, '  pectoral,'  and  full  'oro- 
tund' utterance, — a  grave,  round,  ample,  and  swelling  effect 
of  voice.  The  latter  mode  of  expression,  on  the  contrary, 
would  incline  to  '  oral'  quality, — a  higher,  thinner,  and  softer 
utterance,  approaching  to  that  of  colloquial  style.  The  mild 
effect  of  this  style  of  utterance,  blending  with  that  of  '  oro- 
tund' grandeur,  softens  and  chastens  it  to  a  gentle  expression, 
but  does  not  impair  its  dignity.  The  effect  on  the  ear  is  sim- 
ilar to  that  produced  on  the  eye  and  the  mind,  by  a  noble  de- 
portment softened  by  condescension. 
24* 


f8f  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

The  common  faults  in  the  style  of  reading  the  familiar  nar- 
rative passages  of  Scripture,  are  dry  monotony,  undue  vivaci- 
ty, pompous  solemnity,  rhetorical  and  forced  variation.  The 
analysis  of  the  appropriate  tone  for  such  passages,  would  sug- 
gest that  the  familiar  narratives  of  the  books  of  Scripture, 
should  be  read  with  a  deeper,  softer,  and  slower  voice,  than 
similar  compositions  in  other  works ;  the  whole  style  vivid, 
earnest,  but  subdued, — indicating,  at  the  same  time,  the  inter- 
est awakened  by  the  events  which  are  related,  and  the  chas- 
tening effect  of  the  reverence  due  to  the  sacred  volume. 

EXAMPLES  IN  FAMILIAR  STYLE. 
Abraham  offering  up  Isaac.  —  Gen.  xii.  1 — 13. 

V.  1.  *  And  it  came  to  pass  after  these  things,  that  God  did 
tempt  Abraham,  and  said  unto  him,  "  Abraham :"  And  he  said, 
*'  Behold,  here  I  am."  2.  And  he  said,  "  Take  now  thy  son, 
thine  only  son  Isaac,  whom  thy  lovest,  and  get  thee  into  the 
land  of  Moriah  ;  and  offer  him  there  for  a  burnt-offering  upon 
one  of  the  mountains  which  I  will  tell  thee  of." 

3.  '  And  Abraham  rose  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  sad- 
dled his  ass,  and  took  two  of  his  young  men  with  him,  and 
Isaac  his  son,  and  clave  the  wood  for  the  burnt-offering,  and 
rose  up,  and  went  unto  the  place  of  which  God  had  told  him. 
4.  Then,  on  the  third  day,  Abraham  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  saw 
the  place  afar  off.  5.  And  Abraham  said  unto  his  young  men, 
^<  Abide  ye  here  with  the  ass,  and  I  and  the  lad  will  go  yonder 
^nd  worship,  and  come  again  to  you."  6.  And  Abraham  took 
the  wood  of  the  burnt-offering,  and  laid  it  upon  Isaac  his  son  ; 
and  he  took  the  fire  in  his  hand  and  a  knife  ;  and  they  went 
both  of  them  together.  7.  And  Isaac  spake  unto  Abraham 
his  father,  and  said,  «  My  father  :"  and  he  said,  "  Here  am  I, 
my  son."  And  he  said,  "  Behold  the  fire  and  the  wood  :  but 
where  is  the  lamb  for  a  burnt-offering  ?"  8.  And  Abraham  said, 
"My  son,  God  will  provide  himself  a  lamb  for  a  burnt-offering  :" 
so  they  went  both  of  them  together.  9.  And  they  came  to  the 
place  which  God  had  told  him  of;  and  Abraham  built  an  altar 


EEADING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  283 

there,  and  laid  the  wood  in  order ;  and  bound  Isaac  his  son, 
and  laid  him  on  the  altar  upon  the  wood.  10.  And  Abraham 
stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  took  the  knife  to  slay  his  son. 

11.  And  the  angel  of  the  Lord  called  unto  him  out  of  heaven, 
and  said,  "Abraham,  Abraham  !"    And  he  said,  "  Here  am  I." 

12.  And  he  said,  "  Lay  not  thine  hand  upon  the  lad,  neither 
do  thou  any  thing  unto  him  :  for  now  I  know  that  thou  fearest 
God,  seeing  thou  hast  not  withheld  thy  son,  thine  only  son, 
from  me."  13.  And  Abraham  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  looked, 
and  behold,  behind  him  a  ram  caught  in  a  thicket  by  his  horns : 
And  Abraham  went  and  took  the  ram,  and  offered  him  up  for 
a  burnt-offering  in  the  stead  of  his  son.* 

Additional  examples  of  familiar  narrative  maybe  found  as  follows: 
the  Betrothing  of  Rebekah,  Gen.  xxiv. ;  Judah's  Appeal  to  Joseph,  Gren. 
xliv.;  Samuel's  Report  to  Eli,  1  Sam.  iii.  1—18;  the  Blind  Man  re- 
stored to  Sight,  John  ix.  ;  the  Prodigal  Son,  Luke  xv.  11—32. 

EXAMPLES  IN  'MIDDLE'  STYLE. 

Narrative  passages  which,  according  to  rhetorical  arrange- 
ment, may  be  classed  under  the  head  of  '  middle'  style,  re- 
quire, in  reading,  a  tone  of  voice  which  is  deeper,  firmer,  and 
more  uniformly  sustained,  than  that  of  simple  and  familiar 
narration,  as  exemplified  in  the  preceding  extracts. 

A  homely,  anecdotic  turn  of  voice,  is  decidedly  objectiona- 
ble, even  in  the  reading  of  ordinary  historical  incidents,  as  ut- 
terly incompatible  with  the  appropriate  dignity  and  elevation 
of  the  subject;  and  the  objection  to  such  tones  becomes  in- 
superable, when  the  themes  are  those  of  sacred  history.  The 
effect  of  fireside,  colloquial  intonation,  applied  to  the  pages 
of  the  Bible,  is  similar,  in  its  effect,  to  that  of  parody  on  ele- 
vated composition.  It  suggests  degrading  and  ridiculous  as- 
sociations. 

A  formal  and  mechanical  solemnity  of  tone,  however,  can 
never  comport  with  the  reading  of  a  book  so  remarkable  for 
perfect  simplicity  of  style  and  natural  turns  of  expression,  as 
the  sacred  volume.  Nor  is  it  claiming  too  much  for  the  ap- 
propriate reading  of  the  Scriptures,  to  say  that  it  demands  the 


284  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

deepest  sensibility  of  soul  to  revealed  truth,  united  to  the 
quickest  and  keenest  perception  of*  the  varying  eflfects  of  lan- 
guage. 

The  Death  of  AM.  —  Gen.  iv.  3—14. 

V.  3.  *  And  in  process  of  time  it  came  to  pass,  that  Cain 
brought  of  the  fruit  of  the  ground  an  offering  unto  the  Lord. 
4.  And  Abel,  he  also  brought  of  the  firstlings  of  his  flock, 
and  of  the  fat  thereof.  And  the  Lord  had  respect  unto  Abel, 
and  to  his  offering :  5.  but  unto  Cain,  and  to  his  offering,  he 
had  not  respect.  And  Cain  was  very  wroth,  and  his  counte- 
nance fell.  6.  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Cain,  "  Why  art  thou 
wroth  ?  and  why  is  thy  countenance  fallen  ?  7.  If  thou  doest 
well,  shalt  thou  not  be  accepted  ?  and  if  thou  doest  not  well, 
sin  lieth  at  the  door.  And  unto  thee  shall  be  his  desire,  and 
thou  shalt  rule  over  him."  8.  And  Cain  talked  with  Abel  his 
brother :  and  it  came  to  pass  when  they  were  in  the  field,  that 
Cain  rose  up  against  Abel  his  brother,  and  slew  him. 

9.  *  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Cain,  "  Where  is  Abel  thy 
brother?"  And  he  said,  "I  know  not:  Am  I  my  brother's 
keeper?"  10.  And  he  said,  "What  hast  thou  done?  the 
voice  of  thy  brother's  blood  crieth  unto  me  from  the  ground. 
11.  And  now  art  thou  cursed  from  the  earth,  which  hath 
opened  her  mouth  to  receive  thy  brother's  blood  from  thy 
hand.  12.  When  thou  tillest  the  ground,  it  shall  not  hence- 
forth yield  unto  thee  her  strength :  A  fugitive  and  a  vaga- 
bond shalt  thou  be  in  the  earth."  13.  And  Cain  said  unto 
the  Lord,  "  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear.  14.  Be- 
hold, thou  hast  driven  me  out  this  day  from  the  face  of  the 
earth ;  and  from  thy  face  shall  I  be  hid ;  and  I  shall  be  a  fu- 
gitive and  a  vagabond  in  the  earth  ;  and  it  shall  come  to  pass, 
that  every  one  that  findeth  me  shall  slay  me." ' 

Additional  Examples. — Jephthah's  Vow,  Judges  xi.  2 — 40 ;  the  Curse 
of  Jotham,  Judges  ix. :  the  Death  of  Eli,  1  Sam.  iv.  1 — 18  ;  the  Eejec- 
tion  of  Saul,  1  Sam.  xv  ;  David's  Encounter  with  Goliath,  1  Sam.  xvii 
1 — 54 ;  'the  Reign  of  Josiah,  2  Kings  xxiii.  1 — 30 ;  the  Raising  of  Laza- 
rus, Gospel  of  John,  xi.  1 — 44. 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


EXAMPLES  IN  ELEVATED  STYLE. 

Narration,  when  characterized  by  sublimity,  or  by  marked 
elevation,  requires  a  deeper,  fuller,  slower,  more  forcible  and 
itjipressive  manner,  than  that  which  is  exemplified  in  the  pre- 
ceding passages. 

The  common  faalt  in  the  reading  of  such  parts  of  Scrip- 
ture, consists  in  the  absence  of  an  impressive  and  commanding 
effect  of  voice,  correspondent  to  the  peculiar  character  of  the 
subject.  The  mode  of  utterance,  in  such  passages  as  the  fol- 
lowing, should  not  only  be  deep-toned  and  energetic,  but  warm 
and  glowing.  Fervour  is  a  prominent  element  in  the  ex- 
pression of  sublimity  and  grandeur. 

While  the  voice,  however,  is  rendered  full  and  resonant,  in 
the  reading  of  the  loftier  and  bolder  portions  of  Scripture  nar- 
rative, correct  taste  and  chastened  judgment  alike  forbid  all 
rhetorical  display  and  inflation  of  manner,  as  utterly  incon- 
sistent with  the  genuine  utterance  of  the  language  of  the  sa- 
cred records.  The  voice,  though  glowing  with  emotion,  is,  in 
such  circumstances,  to  be  subdued  to  the  mood  of  reverence 
and  hallowed  association.  No  true  heart  can  tolerate  the  idea 
of  using  the  word  of  God  as  a  theatre  for  the  exhibition  of 
vocal  effect  and  artistic  accomplishment. 

While  the  reader  shrinks,  however,  from  such  results,  he 
can  derive  from  this  just  repugnance  to  desecration  no  plea 
for  the  cold,  lifeless,  and  heartless  style  of  mechanical  reading, 
which  is  so  prevalent  in  the  pulpit,  and  which  effectually  par- 
alyzes the  power  of  the  Bible  over  the  human  heart. 

Creation. — Gen.  i.  and  ii.  1 . 
V.  1.  '  In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the 
earth.  2.  And  the  earth  was  without  form,  and  void ;  and 
darkness  was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep :  and  the  Spirit  of  God 
moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  3.  And  God  said,  "  Let 
there  be  light :"  and  there  was  light.  4.  And  God  saw  the 
light,  that  it  was  good :  and  God  divided  the  light  from  the 


286  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

darkness.  5.  And  God  called  the  light  Day,  and  the  dark- 
ness he  called  Night :  and  the  evening  and  the  morning  were 
the  first  day. 

6.  '  And  God  said,  "  Let  there  be  a  firmament  in  the  midst 
of  the  waters,  and  let  it  divide  the  waters  from  the  waters." 
7.  And  God  made  the  firmament,  and  divided  the  waters 
which  were  under  the  firmament  from  the  waters  which  were 
above  the  firmament :  and  it  was  so.  8.  And  God  called  the 
firmament  Heaven :  and  the  evening  and  the  morning  were 
the  second  day. 

9.  *  And  God  said,  "  Let  the  waters  under  the  heaven  be 
gathered  together  unto  one  place,  and  let  the  dry  land  ap- 
pear :"  and  it  was  so.  10.  And  God  called  the  dry  land  Earth ; 
and  the  gathering  together  of  the  waters  called  he  Seas :  and 
God  saw  that  it  was  good.  11.  And  God  said,  "  Let  the  earth 
bring  forth  grass,  the  herb  yielding  seed,  and  the  fruit-tree 
yielding  fruit  after  his  kind,  whose  seed  is  in  itself,  upon  the 
earth  :"  and  it  was  so.  12.  And  the  earth  brought  forth  grass, 
and  herb  yielding  seed  after  his  kind,  and  the  tree  yielding 
fruit,  whose  seed  was  in  itself,  after  his  kind :  and  God  saw 
that  it  was  good.  13.  And  the  evening  and  the  morning 
were  the  third  day. 

14.  *  And  God  said,  "Let  there  be  lights  in  the  firmament 
of  the  heaven,  to  divide  the  day  from  the  night ;  and  let  them 
be  for  signs,  and  for  seasons,  and  for  days,  and  years.  15.  And 
let  them  be  for  lights  in  the  firmament  of  the  heaven,  to  give 
light  upon  the  earth:"  and  it  was  so.  16.  And  God  made 
two  great  lights ;  the  greater  light  to  rule  the  day,  and  the 
lesser  light  to  rule  the  night :  he  made  the  stars  also.  17.  And 
God  set  them  in  the  firmament  of  the  heaven  to  give  light 
upon  the  earth,  18.  and  to  rule  over  the  day,  and  over  the 
night,  and  to  divide  the  light  from  the  darkness :  and  God 
saw  that  it  was  good.  19.  And  the  evening  and  the  morn- 
ing were  the  fourth  day.  20.  And  God  said,  "  Let  the  waters 
bring  forth  abundantly  the  moving  creature  that  hath  life, 
and  fowl  that  may  fly  above  the  earth  in  the  open  firmament 
of  heaven,"     21.  And  God  created  great  whales,  and  every 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  28T 

living  creature  that  moveth,  which  the  waters  brought  forth 
abundantly  after  their  kind,  and  every  winged  fowl  after  his 
kind  :  and  God  saw  that  it  was  good.  22.  And  God  blessed 
them,  saying,  "  Be  fruitful,  and  multiply,  and  fill  the  waters  in 
the  seas,  and  let  fowl  multiply  in  the  earth."  23.  And  the 
evening  and  the  morning  were  the  fifth  day.  24.  And  God 
said,  "Let  the  earth  bring  forth  the  living  creature  after  his 
kind,  cattle,  and  creeping  thing,  and  beast  of  the  earth  after 
his  kind  :"  and  it  was  so.  25.  And  God  made  the  beast  of 
the  earth  after  his  kind,  and  cattle  after  their  kind,  and  every 
thing  that  creepeth  upon  the  earth  after  his  kind  :  and  God 
saw  that  it  was  good. 

26.  '  And  God  said,  "  Let  us  make  man  in  our  image,  after 
our  likeness  :  and  let  them  have  dominion  over  the  fish  of 
the  sea,  and  over  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  over  the  cattle,  and 
over  all  the  earth,  and  over  every  creeping  thing  that  creep- 
eth upon  the  earth."  27.  So  God  created  man  in  his  own 
image,  in  the  image  of  God  created  he  him  ;  male  and  female 
created  he  them.  28.  And  God  blessed  them,  and  God  said 
unto  them,  "  Be  fruitful,  and  multiply,  and  replenish  the  earth, 
and  subdue  it :  and  have  dominion  over  the  fish  of  the  sea, 
and  over  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  over  every  living  thing  that 
moveth  upon  the  earth." 

29.  '  And  God  said,  "  Behold,  I  have  given  you  every  herb 
bearing  seed,  which  is  upon  the  face  of  all  the  earth,  and  ev- 
ery tree,  in  the  which  is  the  fruit  of  a  tree  yielding  seed  ;  to 
you  it  shall  be  for  meat.  30.  And  to  every  beast  of  the 
earth,  and  to  every  fowl  of  the  air,  and  to  every  thing  that 
creepeth  upon  the  earth,  wherein  there  is  life,  I  have  given 
every  green  herb  for  meat :"  and  it  was  so.  31.  And  God 
saw  every  thing  that  he  had  made,  and  behold,  it  was  very 
good.  And  the  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  sixth  day. 
Ch.  IL  V.  1.  Thus  the  heavens  and  the  earth  were  finished, 
and  all  the  host  of  them.' 

Additional  Examples. — The  Flood,  Gen.  vii.  11 — 24,  and  viii.  1 — 22  ; 
Abraham's  Vision,  Gen.xv.  1 — 18;  Jacob's  Dream,  Gen.xxviii.  10 — 22; 
the  Mission  of  Moses,  Exod.  iii.  I — 20  ;  the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea, 


288  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Exod.  xiv.  5 — 31;  Dedication  of  the  Temple,  1  Kings  viii.  1 — 63;  the 
Day  of  Pentecost,  Acts  ii. :  Paul's  Defence  before  Agrippa,  Acts  xxvi. 
1—29. 


DIDACTIC  PASSAGES. 

The  peculiar  mode  of  voice  which  characterizes  appropri- 
ate didactic  reading,  in  ordinary  composition,  as  differing 
from  that  which  belongs  to  narrative  or  descriptive  style,  holds 
good,  also,  in  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures.  Narration  and 
description  address  themselves,  in  many  instances,  to  feeling 
and  imagination,  for  their  chief  effect ;  while  didactic  subjects 
are  usually  directed  exclusively,  or  nearly  so,  to  the  reason 
and  judgment,  through  the  understanding. 

Narrative  and  descriptive  reading,  accordingly,  abound, 
comparatively,  in  vivid  and  varied  tones,  associated  with  the 
dijaferent  moods  of  sympathy  and  emotion.  Didactic  reading 
holds  a  more  steady,  uniform,  and  regulated  course  of  utter- 
ance, adapted  to  a  clear,  distinct  conveyance  of  thought  to 
the  intellect.  It  depends  less  on  impassioned  variation  of 
voice,  and  more  on  correct  and  exact  articulation, — less  on 
vivid  tone  and  strong  expression,  more  on  true  inflection, 
just  emphasis,  and  appropriate  pauses,  as  aids  to  the  effect  of 
clear  apprehension  and  precise  discrimination. 

The  common  faults  in  the  reading  of  didactic  portions  of 
Scripture,  are  a  mechanical  and  inexpressive  tone,  the  lifeless 
result  of  mere  habit ;  a  heavy,  solemn,  grandiose  style,  desti- 
tute of  spirit  and  effect ;  a  formal,  sermonizing  manner,  utter- 
ly unsuited  to  the  simple  and  vivid  style  of  Scripture  instruc- 
tion ;  an  over  familiar,  flippant  utterance,  which  divests  the 
language  of  the  sacred  volume  of  its  dignity  and  authority, 
and  its  proper  power  over  the  soul. 

The  doctrinal  parts  of  the  Bible,  require,  in  reading,  a  firm, 
energetic,  spirited,  authoritative,  but  quiet  and  steady  voice ; 
perfectly  clear  and  distinct  in  enunciation,  free  from  any  dry- 
ness or  formality,  and  breathing  a  tone  of  conscious  dignity 
and  power,  blended  with  that  of  mildness,  condescension,  gen- 
tleness, and  affectionate  interest. 


I 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  289^ 


EXAMPLES  IN  ORAL  AND  PARABOLIC  STYLE. 
From  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.— M.ai\\ic\\  VI. 

V.  1.  '  Take  heed  that  ye  do  not  your  alms  before  men,  to» 
be  seen  of  them :  otherwise  ye  have  no  reward  of  your  Father 
which  is  in  heaven.  2.  Therefore,  when  thou  doest  thine^ 
alms,  do  not  sound  a  trumpet  before  thee,  as  the  hypocrites^ 
do,  in  the  synagogues,  and  in  the  streets,  that  they  may  have- 
glory  of  men.  Verily,  I  say  unto  you.  They  have  their  re- 
ward. 3.  But  when  thou  doest  alms,  let  not  thy  left  handi 
know  what  thy  right  hand  doeth ;  4.  That  thine  alms  may 
be  in  secret :  and  thy  Father  which  seeth  in  secret,  himself 
shall  reward  thee  openly. 

5.  '  And  when  thou  prayest,  thou  shalt  not  be  as  the  hypo- 
crites are  ;  for  they  love  to  pray  standing  in  the  synagogues, 
and  in  the  corners  of  the  streets,  that  they  may  be  seen  of 
men.  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,  They  have  their  reward.  6.. 
But  thou,  when  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet ;  and  when 
thou  hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father  which  is  in  se- 
cret ;  and  thy  Father  which  seeth  in  secret,  shall  reward  thee 
openly.  7.  But  when  ye  pray,  use  not  vain  repetitions,  as- 
the  heathen  do  :  for  they  think  that  they  shall  be  heard  for 
their  much  speaking.  8.  Be  not  ye  therefore  like  unto  them :. 
for  your  Father  knoweth  what  things  ye  have  need  of  before 
ye  ask  him.  9.  After  this  manner  therefore  pray  ye  :  Our 
Father  which  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  thy  name.  10.  Thy- 
kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done  in  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven^ 
11.  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.  12.  And  forgive  us- 
our  debts,  as  we  forgive  our  debtors.  13.  And  lead  us  not 
into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil.  For  thine  is  the- 
kingdom,  and  the  power,  and  the  glory,  forever.  Amen.. 
14.  For,  if  ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  your  heavenly 
Father  will  also  forgive  you :  15.  But,  if  ye  forgive  not  men 
their  trespasses,  neither  will  your  Father  forgive  your  tres- 
passes. 

16.  'Moreover,  when  ye  fast,  be  not  as  the  hypocrites,  of 
25 


290 


PULPIT  ELOCUTIOIT. 


a  sad  countenance :  for  they  disfigure  their  faces,  that  they 
may  appear  unto  men  to  fast.  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,  They 
have  their  reward.  17.  But  thou,  when  thou  fastest,  anoint 
thy  head,  and  wash  thy  face  ;  18.  That  thou  appear  not  unto 
men,  to  fast,  but  unto  thy  Father,  which  is  in  secret :  and  thy 
Father,  which  seeth  in  secret,  shall  reward  thee  openly. 

19.  '  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures  upon  earth,  where 
moth  and  rust  doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves  break  through 
and  steal :  20.  But  lay  up  for  yourselves  treasures  in  heaven, 
where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  and  where  thieves 
do  not  break  through  nor  steal.  21.  For  where  your  treasure 
is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also.  22.  The  light  of  the  body  is 
the  eye  :  if  therefore  thine  eye  be  single,  thy  wh(^e  body  shall 
be  full  of  light.  23.  But  if  thine  eye  be  evil,  thy  whole  body 
shall  be  full  of  darkness.  If  therefore  the  light  that  is  in 
thee  be  darkness,  how  great  is  that  darkness  ! 

24.  '  No  man  can  serve  two  masters  ;  for  either  he  will  hate 
the  one,  and  love  the  other  ;  or  else  he  will  hold  to  the  one, 
and  despise  the  other.  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  mammon. 
25.  Therefore  I  say  unto  you,  Take  no  thought  for  your  life, 
what  ye  shall  eat,  or  what  ye  shall  drink  ;  nor  yet  for  your 
body,  what  ye  shall  put  on.  Is  not  the  life  more  than  meat, 
and  the  body  than  raiment  ?  26.  Behold  the  fowls  of  the 
air  :  for  they  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap,  nor  gather  into 
barns  ;  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedeth  them.  Are  ye  not 
much  better  than  they  ?  27.  Which  of  you  by  taking  thought 
can  add  one  cubit  unto  his  stature  ?  28.  And  why  take  ye 
thought  for  raiment  ?  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field  how  they 
grow  ;  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin  ;  29.  And  yet  I  say 
unto  you,  That  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  array- 
ed like  one  of  these.  30.  Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the 
grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into 
the  oven,  shall  he  not  much  more  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little 
faith?  31.  Therefore  take  no  thought,  saying.  What  shall 
we  eat  ?  or,  what  shall  we  drink  ?  or,  wherewithal  shall  we 
be  clothed?  32.  (For  after  all  these  things  do  the  Gentiles 
seek :)  for  your  heavenly  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  291 

of  all  these  things.  33.  But  seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of 
God,  and  his  righteousness,  and  all  these  things  shall  be  add- 
ed unto  you.  34.  Take  therefore  no  thought  for  the  morrow : 
for  the  morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself. 
Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.' 

Additional  Examples. — The  Parable  of  the  Sower,  Matthew  xiii.  1 — 
43;  The  Parable  of  the  Talents,  Matthew  xxv.  14—46;  Rebuke  of  Cov- 
etousness,  Luke  xii.  13 — 40;  Regeneration,  John  iii.  1 — 21;  Parting 
Words  of  Jesus  to  his  Disciples,  John,  xiv. 

EXAMPLES  FROM  THE  EPISTLES. 
Equality  of  Jew  and  Gentile. — Rom.  IIL 
V.  1.  *  What  advantage  then  hath  the  Jew  ?  or  what  pro- 
fit is  there  of  circumcision .'  2.  Much  every  way  :  chiefly, 
because  that  unto  them  were  committed  the  oracles  of  God. 
3.  For  what  if  some  did  not  believe  ?  shall  their  unbelief 
make  the  faith  of  God  without  effect  ?  4.  God  forbid  :  yea, 
let  God  be  true,  but  every  man  a  liar  ;  as  it  is  written,  "  That 
thou  mightest  be  justified  in  thy  sayings,  and  mightest  over- 
come when  thou  art  judged."  5.  But  if  our  unrighteousness 
commend  the  righteousness  of  God,  what  shall  we  say  ?  Is 
God  unrighteous  who  taketh  vengeance  ?  (I  speak  as  a  man,) 

6.  God  forbid :  for  then  how  shall   God  judge  the  world  ? 

7.  For  if  the  truth  of  God  hath  more  abounded  through  my 
lie  unto  his  glory  ;  why  yet  am  I  also  judged  as  a  sinner  ? 

8.  And  not  rather,  (as  we  be  slanderously  reported,  and  as 
some  affirm  that  we  say,)  Let  us  do  evil,  that  good  may  come  ? 
whose  damnation  is  just.  9.  What  then  1  are  we  better  than 
they  ?  No,  in  no  wise  :  for  we  have  before  proved  both  Jews 
and  Gentiles,  that  they  are  all  under  sin ;  10.  As  it  is  writ- 
ten, There  is  none  righteous,  no,  not  one  :  11.  There  is  none 
that  understandeth,  there  is  none   that   seeketh  after  God. 

12.  They  are  all  gone  out  of  the  way,  they  are  together  be- 
come unprofitable  :  there  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no,  not  one. 

13.  Their  throat  is  an  open  sepulchre ;  with  their  tongues 
they  have  used  deceit ;  the  poison  of  asps  is  under  their  lips  : 

14.  Whose  mouth  is  full  of  cursing  and  bitterness.  15.  Their 


292  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood.  16.  Destruction  and  misery  are 
in  their  ways :  17.  And  the  way  of  peace  have  they  not 
known.  18.  There  is  no  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes. 
19.  '  Now  we  know  that  what  things  soever  the  law  saith,  it 
saith  to  them  who  are  under  the  law  :  that  every  mouth  may 
be  stopped,  and  all  the  world  may  become  guilty  before  God. 

20.  Therefore  by  the  deeds  of  the  law,  there  shall  no  flesh  be 
justified  in  his  sight ;  for  by  the  law  is  the  knowledge  of  sin. 

21.  But  now  the  righteousness  of  God  without  the  law  is 
manifested,  being  witnessed  by  the  law  and  the  prophets ; 

22.  Even  the  righteousness  of  God,  which  is  by  faith  of  Je- 
sus Christ  unto  all,  and  upon  all  them  that  believe  :  for  there 
is  no  difference  :  23.  For  all  have  sinned,  and  come  short  of 
the  glory  of  God ;  24.  Being  justified  freely  by  his  grace, 
through  the  redemption  that  is  in  Christ  Jesus  :  25.  Whom 
God  hath  set  forth  to  be  a  propitiation,  through  faith  in  his 
blood,  to  declare  his  righteousness  for  the  remission  of  sins 
that  are  past,  through  the  forbearance  of  God ;  26.  To  de- 
clare, I  say,  at  this  time  his  righteousness :  that  he  might  be 
just,  and  the  justifier  of  him  which  believeth  in  Jesus. 

27. '  Where  is  boasting  then  ?  It  is  excluded.  By  what  law  ? 
of  works  ?  Nay  :  but  by  the  law  of  faith.  28.  Therefore  we 
conclude,  that  a  man  is  justified  by  faith  without  the  deeds 
of  the  law.  29.  Is  he  the  God  of  the  Jews  only  ?  is  he  not 
also  of  the  Gentiles  ?  Yes,  of  the  Gentiles  also  :  30.  Seeing 
it  is  one  God  which  shall  justify  the  circumcision  by  faith, 
and  uncircumcision  through  faith.  31.  Do  we  then  make 
void  the  law  through  faith  ?  God  forbid :  yea,  we  establish 
the  law. 

Additional  Examples— Jnsti^c&tion  by  Faith,  Rom.  v.;  The  carnal 
State  and  the  spiritual,  Eom.  viii. ;  Charity,  1  Cor.  xiii. ;  The  Resun-ec- 
tion,  1  Cor.  xv. 

PASSAGES  FROM  THE  PROPHETIC  WRITINGS. 
The  prophets  are  distinguished,  among  the  sacred  writers, 
for  poetic  beauty  and  grandeur  of  thought,  and  for  graphic 
and  dramatic  efiect  of  style.     The  prophetic  books  imbody 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


293 


more  descriptive  power  and  vivid  expression,  than 'any  other 
writings  whatever.  They  require,  accordingly,  more  inten- 
sity and  variety  of  tone,  in  reading, — a  nobler  majesty  of  ut- 
terance a  fuller,  deeper,  stronger,  character  of  voice, — a  per- 
fect *  orotund  quality  J 

The  oriental  fervour  of  emotion,  and  the  poetic  and  ima- 
ginative language  which  characterize  the  prophets,  taken  in 
connection  with  their  sublime  force  of  thought,  naturally  call 
for  a  higher  degree  of  energy  in  the  voice,  than  is  required 
for  ordinary  reading,  or  even  for  the  style  of  the  other 
writers  of  the  sacred  volume.  The  appropriate  reading  of 
most  portions  of  the  prophetic  books,  requires,  likewise,  a 
more  marked  and  peculiar  *  stress,'  than  occurs  in  forms  of 
writing  less  expressive  and  peculiar.  The  style  of  prophetic 
language,  in  the  sacred  Scriptures,  is  not  less  striking  in  re- 
gard to  its  effect  on  the  pitch  of  the  voice.  It  abounds  in  the 
solemn  and  majestic  tones  of  the  epic,  in  the  transports  of  joy 
and  the  bursts  of  grief  peculiar  to  the  lyric  ode,  and  in  the 
abrupt  conversational  turns  of  dramatic  dialogue.  Its  variety 
and  range  of  pitch,  therefore,  are  remarkable ;  and  to  the 
same  causes  are  owing  its  frequent  use  of  special  '  inflections,' 
as  the  '  wave,'  the  '  monotone,'  the  bold  '  downward  slide'  of 
exclamation  and  command,  and  the  acute  '  rising  infl£ction' 
of  eager  and  stern  interrogation.  The  *  movement'  of  the 
voice,  too,  in  the  appropriate  reading  of  passages  from  the 
prophets,  is  strikingly  marked  in  every  degree  required  by 
intense  and  varied  emotion,  from  the  slowest  style  of  awe, 
gloom,  and  horror ;  to  the  rapid  rate  of  haste,  joy,  and  tri- 
umph. The  whole  style  of  elocution,  in  this  department  of 
Scripture  reading,  is  marked  by  the  peculiar  force  of  its  em- 
phasis, the  occasional  brevity,  and  the  occasional  impressive 
length,  of  its  pauses,  the  intensity  of  its  *  expression,'  and  the 
abruptness  and  extent  of  its  '  variation.' 

The  Doom  of  Babylon. — Isaiah  XIII. 

V.  1.  '  The  burden  of  Babylon,  which  Isaiah  the  son  of 

25* 


294  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Amoz  did  see. — 2.  Lift  ye  up  a  banner  upon  the  high  moun- 
tain, exalt  the  voice  unto  them,  shake  the  hand,  that  they 
may  go  into  the  gates  of  the  nobles.  3.  I  have  commanded 
my  sanctified  ones,  I  have  also  called  my  mighty  ones  for 
mine  anger,  even  them  that  rejoice  in  my  highness.  4.  The 
noise  of  a  multitude  in  the  mountains,  like  as  of  a  great  peo- 
ple ;  a  tumultuous  noise  of  the  kingdoms  of  nations  gathered 
together  :  the  Lord  of  hosts  mustereth  the  host  of  the  battle. 
5.  They  come  from  a  far  country,  from  the  end  of  heaven, 
■even  the  Lord,  and  the  weapons  of  his  indignation,  to  destroy 
the  whole  land. 

6.  *  Howl  ye :  for  the  day  of  the  Lord  is  at  hand ;  it  shall 
<jome  as  a  destruction  from  the  Almighty.  '7.  Therefore 
shall  all  hands  be  faint,  and  every  man's  heart  shall  melt : 
S.  And  they  shall  be  afraid :  pangs  and  sorrows  shall  take 
hold  of  them ;  they  shall  be  in  pain  as  a  woman  that  travail- 
eth :  they  shall  be  amazed  one  at  another;  their  faces  shall 
be  as  flames.  9.  Behold,  the  day  of  the  Lord  cometh,  cruel 
both  with  wrath  and  fierce  anger,  to  lay  the  land  desolate : 
and  he  shall  destroy  the  sinners  thereof  out  of  it.  10.  For  the 
stars  of  heaven  and  the  constellations  thereof  shall  not  give 
their  light :  the  sun  shall  be  darkened  in  his  going  forth,  and 
the  moon  shall  not  cause  her  light  to  shine.  11.  And  I  will 
punish  the  world  for  their  evil,  and  the  wicked  for  their  ini- 
quity ;  and  1  will  cause  the  arrogancy  of  the  proud  to  cease, 
.and  will  lay  low  the  haughtiness  of  the  terrible.  12.  I  will 
make  a  man  more  precious  than  fine  gold ;  even  a  man  than 
the  golden  wedge  of  Ophir.  13.  Therefore  I  will  shake  the 
heavens ;  and  the  earth  shall  remove  out  of  her  place,  in  the 
wrath  of  the  Lord  of  hosts,  and  in  the  day  of  his  fierce  anger. 
14.  And  it  shall  be  as  the  chased  roe,  and  as  a  sheep  that  no 
man  taketh  up  :  they  shall  every  man  turn  to  his  own  people, 
and  flee  every  one  into  his  own  land.  15.  Every  one  that  is 
found  shall  be  thrust  through ;  and  every  one  that  is  joined 
unto  them  shall  fall  by  the  sword.  16.  Their  children  also 
shall  be  dashed  to  pieces  before  their  eyes ;  their  houses  shall 
be  spoiled,  and  their  wives  ravished.     17.  Behold,  I  will  stir 


READING  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES.  295 

up  the  Medes  against  them,  which  shall  not  regard  silver ; 
and  as  for  gold,  they  shall  not  delight  in  it.  18.  Their  bows 
also  shall  dash  the  young  men  to  pieces  ;  and  they  shall  have 
no  pity  on  the  fruit  of  the  womb ;  their  eye  shall  not  spare 
children. 

19.  *  And  Babylon,  the  glory  of  kingdoms,  the  beauty  of 
the  Chaldees'  excellency,  shall  be  as  when  God  overthrew 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  20.  It  shall  never  be  inhabited,  nei- 
ther shall  it  be  dwelt  in  from  generation  to  generation ;  nei- 
ther shall  the  Arabian  pitch  tent  there ;  neither  shall  the 
shepherds  make  their  fold  there.  21.  But  wild  beasts  of  the 
desert  shall  lie  there  ;  and  their  houses  shall  be  full  of  doleful 
creatures ;  and  owls  shall  dwell  there,  and  satyrs  shall  dance 
there.  22.  And  the  wild  beasts  of  the  islands  shall  cry  in 
their  desolate  houses,  and  dragons  in  their  pleasant  palaces : 
and  her  time  is  near  to  come,  and  her  days  shall  not  be  pro- 
longed.' 

Additional  Examples. — Israel's  Triumph  over  Babylon,  Isaiah  xiv. ;  the 
Restoration  of  Jerusalem,  Isaiah  xl. ;  the  Restoration  of  the  Holy  City  and 
Temple,  Isaiah  xliv. ;  the  Exaltation  of  Cyras,  and  the  Restoration 
of  Israel,  Isaiah  xlv.  1 — 23 ;  the  Promise  of  a  Redeemer,  Isaiah  liii. ;  As- 
surance of  the  Return  of  Divine  Favourite  Israel,  Isaiah  liv,  Iv. ;  the  De- 
basement and  Self-reproach  of  Israel,  Isaiah  lix.  1  — 15  5  Assurances  of 
Divine  Favour  to  Israel,  Isaiah  Ix,  Ixi.  5  Earnest  Entreaty,  Isaiah  Ixiv. ; 
Divine  Retribution,  Isaiah  Ixv. ;  Denunciations  against  Israel,  Jere- 
miah iv,  vi,  vii,  viii. ;  Grief  and  Prostration  'of  Judah,  Jeremiah  xiv.  5 
Denunciation  against  the  King  of  Judah,  Jeremiah  xxii. ;  Denunciations 
against  False  Prophets,  Jeremiah  xxiii.  9 — 40 ;  the  Restoration  of  Israel, 
Jeremiah  xxxi,  xxxiii. ;  Denunciation  against  Babylon,  Jeremiah  1,  li. ; 
Calamities  of  Judah  and  Jerusalem,  Lamentations  i,  ii,  iv.  1 — 20. 

LYRIC  PASSAGES. 

The  Book  of  Psalms,  and  the  devotional  strains  inter- 
spersed with  the  narratives  of  the  sacred  volume,  may  be  con- 
veniently classified  for  the  purposes  of  elocution,  according  to 
the  character  of  their  predominant  emotions,  as  indicating  their 
prevalent  tones  of  expression  in  reading,  in  the  following 
manner. 


296  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

1.  Examples  of  Solemnity,  Sublimity,  and  Awe. 
*Psalin  Ixxvii.  11 — 20  ;  Ixxxix.  2 — 14;   xc,  civ,  cxxxix. 
1—18. 

2.  Grandeur,  Majesty,  and  Power. 

Psalm  xviii,  xix,  xxix,  Ixv,  xcvii. 

3.  Tranquillity  and  Serenity. 
Psalm  viii,  xxiii. 

4.  Joy,  Praise,    and  Triumph. 

Psalm  XXX,  Ixiii,  Ixv,  Ixvi,  Ixvii,  Ixviii,  xcv,  xcvi,  xcvii, 
xcviii,  c,  ciii,  civ,  cvii,  cxiii,  cxiv,  cxlv,  cxlvi,  cxlvii,  cxlviii,  cl. 

5.  Pathos,  Entreaty,  and  Supplication. 
Psalm  vi,  xxxviii,  xxxix,  Ixxxviii,  cxlii,  cxliii. 

6.  Varied  Expression. 

Psalm  xxii,  xxxi,  xxxvi,  xl,  xli,  xlii,  xliii,  li,  Ixix,  Ixxi, 
Lxxxix,  cii,  cxxx, 

7.  Didactic  Sentiment. 
Psalm  i,  xxxvii. 


THE  READING  OF   HYMNS. 

This  department  of  pulpit  elocution  is  one  which  requires, 
more  than  any  other,  the  closest  attention  of  the  student.  Our 
existing  modes  of  education  are  so  generally  imperfect,  as  re- 
gards the  early  training  of  the  voice,  that  habit  is,  in  most 
cases,  formed  to  defective  and  erroneous  modes  of  reading, 
long  before  an  individual  has  arrived  at  maturity.     Few  per- 

*  Examples  extracted  from  the  above  and  similar  passages,  have  been 
presented  as  exercises  under  various  emotions,  and  need  not,  therefore, 
be  repeated  here.  They  may  be  repeated  orally  if  necessary,  by  referring 
to  the  pages  in  which  they  occur. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  297 

sons,  comparatively,  seem  to  possess  the  power  of  uttering  the 
words  of  a  lyric  stanza,  in  the  spirit  of  poetic  feeling ;  and 
few,  indeed,  seem  capable  of  reading  verse  without  a  false  in- 
tonation, which,  when  applied  to  the  beautiful  language  of  the 
poet,  makes  it  fall  on  the  ear 

'  Like  sweet  bells  jangled, — out  of  tune  and  harsh.' 

Many  pulpit  readers  are  actually  so  little  moulded,  either  by 
nature  or  art,  for  the  exercise  of  devotional  reading,  that  the 
loftiest  inspirations  of  the  sacred  muse,  become,  in  their  hands, 
absolute  doggerel  to  the  ear.  The  associations  of  devotion 
are  thus  thrust  out  of  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  to  make  room 
for  those  of  ludicrous  incongruity. — No  reformation  in  the 
modes  of  pubhc  or  or  private  life,  is  more  urgently  demanded 
by  general  sentiment,  than  a  change,  as  regards  the  power  of 
the  Christian  ministry  to  render  the  services  of  the  pulpit  ap- 
propriate and  impressive  in  manner.  In  no  respect  is  present 
deficiency  so  deeply  and  so  generally  felt,  as  in  the  preparatory 
act  of  reading  the  hymn,  which  should  be, — in  the  reading 
not  less  than  the  singing  of  it, — the  living  voice  of  assembled 
hearts  lifted  to  the  throne  of  Infinite  Majesty.  The  reading 
of  the  hymn  should  be  the  prelude  by  which  both  congrega- 
tion and  choir  have  their  souls  attuned  to  the  sentiment  of  the 
sacred  song,  before  entering  on  the  performance  of  the  ac- 
companying strains  of  music.  The  best  security  for  the  ap- 
propriate and  truly  expressive  singing  of  a  psalm  or  hymn,  is 
that  just  and  impressive  reading  of  it,  which  imparts  its  spirit 
to  heart  and  ear.  But  to  fulfil  the  apostolic  injunction  of 
*  making  melody  in  the  heart,'  after  a  dull,  cold,  prosaic,  or 
see-saw  reading  of  the  hymn,  is  a  task  next  to  impracticable. 
An  attentive  eye  may,  in  fact,  see  that,  in  such  circumstances, 
the  youthful  and  the  thoughtless  among  a  congregation,  have, 
sometimes,  as  much  as  they  can  do,  to  preserve  decorum. 

The  situation  of  the  student  of  theology,  is  by  no  means  fa- 
vourable to  the  acquisition  of  a  command  over  the  voice,  such 
as  the  appropriate  utterance  of  poetic  sentiment,  and,  especial- 
ly, in  the  lyric  form,  necessarily  requires.     He  shares,  in 


298  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

early  years,  in  all  the  common  disadvantages  of  imperfect  cul- 
tivation of  the  vocal  organs  ;  and  the  sedentary  and  secluded 
life  of  his  boyhood  and  youth,  tends  directly  to  reduce  his 
power  of  organic  action  and  expression.  His  daily  life  is  one 
of  intense  cerebral  action,  in  which  the  vital  energies  are 
withdrawn,  to  a  great  extent,  from  the  muscular  and  nervous 
systems,  which  are  the  special  apparatus  of  expressive  action. 
As  a  student,  he  loses  energy,  and  vivacity,  and  susceptibility, 
which  are  the  necessary  measures  of  his  expressive  power. 
The  passive  capacity  of  impression,  which  he  has  acquired  by 
reading  and  contemplation,  might,  under  a  judicious  system  of 
proportioned  culture,  have  been  an  element  of  vast  effect ;  but 
its  excess  actually  renders  it  an  obstacle  to  expression.  The  re- 
ceptive sensibility  of  the  soul  not  being  balanced  by  the  power 
of  utterance,  oppresses  rather  than  enlivens  feeling,  and  quells 
rather  than  inspires  the  voice.  Habit,  and  culture,  and  skill 
are  all  required  to  render  feeling  tributary  to  expression.  Pas- 
sion and  imagination  are  not  less  important  to  the  reader  than 
to  the  poet ;  and  the  discipline  of  these  much  neglected  parts  of 
man's  constitution,  is  as  valuable  to  the  former  as  to  the  latter. 
Hence  the  great  moment  of  personal  cultivation  and  self- edu- 
cation in  elocution,  to  him  who  would  worthily  occupy  the 
pulpit,  as  the  leader  of  an  assembly  met  for  the  purposes  of 
devotion. 

The  power  over  human  feeling  which  lies  in  a  hymn 
appropriately  read,  is  indescribable.  It  is  difficult,  indeed, 
for  the  most  indifferent  heart  to  escape  from  the  appointed  in- 
fluence of  the  sanctuary,  when  the  minister  yields  his  whole 
soul  to  the  sentiment  and  spirit  of  a  hymn,  and  gives  these 
forth  in  tones  that  come  fresh  from  the  great  fount  of  feeling, 
and  hallow  the  imagination  with  the  presence  of  devotional 
associations.  Add  to  such  effects  that  of  the  well-tuned  voice 
which  breathes  life  and  music  into  sound,  and  thus  gives 
presence  and  audible  beauty  to  the  spirit  of  poetry';  and  the 
result  becomes  a  combination  which  no  man  can  resist,  whose 
heart  is  not  seared  to  every  good  influence.* 

*  '  If  I  have  ever  been  of  any  use,  as  an  instrument  of  spiritual  good, 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  299 

Music  is  universally  recognized  as  of  divine  ordination 
for  the  purposes  of  worship.  But  it  is  too  generally  forgotten 
that  poetry  is  such  also,  and  that,  without  the  inspiration  of  the 
latter,  the  former  is  but  as  the  '  sounding  brass  and  the  tinkling 
cymbal.'  The  reading  of  the  eminent  servant  of  God  referred 
to  on  the  preceding  page,  ever  indicated,  in  the  tone  and  ex- 
pression of  the  hymn,  a  soul  baptized  into  its  inmost  sentiment 
and  its  deepest  effect.  His  low-pitched,  solemn,  but  sweet  in- 
tonation could  quell  and  absorb  every  heart  in  an  assembled 
multitude,  and  cause  the  very  frame  of  the  hearer  to  thrill 
with  the  deep-felt  sense  of  the  reality  of  spiritual  truths.  The 
unlettered  working-man  felt,  then,  the  efficacy  of  a  human 
voice  hallowed  by  genuine  devotional  feeling ;  and  the  culti- 
vated student  became  aware  how  imagination,  and  taste,  and 
ear,  might  all  be  rendered  tributary  to  the  deepest  spiritual 
impressions. 

But,  in  addition  to  the  usual  disadvantages  of  imperfect  cul- 
ture, the  clergyman,  in  the  daily  routine  of  life's  active  duties, 
has  a  host  of  impediments  to  the  appropriate  and  impressive 
use  of  the  voice,  in  conducting  the  part  of  public  worship  to 
which  we  now  refer.  He  needs  peculiar  preventives  to  coun- 
teract unfavourable  influences.  He  is  called,  not  unfrequently, 
from  the  midst  of  active  duties  of  a  merely  temporary,  but, 
perhaps,  of  an  exciting  and  absorbing  character,  to  conduct  the 
devotions  of  a  week-day  prayer  meeting.  He  commences, 
perhaps,  with  the  reading  of  a  hymn,  with  the  din  and  the 
bustle  of  business  yet  sounding  in  his  ears,  and  its  unavoidable 
cares  yet  lingering  about  his  heart.  Happy  for  him  then,  if 
his  early  culture  had  given  him  that  instant  susceptibility  of 
feeling,  by  which  the  charm  of  poetry,  lending  its  tributary  aid 
to  the  spirit  of  devotion,  the  lines  which  he  begins  to  read 
should  instantly  raise  his  soul  to  the  height  of  seeing  Him 

it  has  been,  to  a  great  extent,  through  the  reading  of  sacred  poetry ; 
where  I  have  had  my  choice  of  means,  I  have  selected  it  in  preference  to 
any  other.  I  would  charge  it  on  you,  young  men,  to  cultivate  and  cherish 
this  invaluable  aid  to  your  usefulness.'  Such  were  the  words  of  the  late 
Dr.  Nettleton  to  the  students  around  his  bed,  during  his  last  illness. 


300  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

who  is  invisible,  and  inspire  the  power  of  uplifting  the  heart 
of  the  worshipping  assemblage,  by  the  utterance  of  a  spirit 
attuned  to  the  vivid  tones  of  deep  and  genuine  emotion! 
Without  a  degree  of  such  effect,  the  reading  of  the  hymn  is 
but  a  desecration,  and  the  meeting  but  a  ceremony.  Yet  how 
often  are  such  occasions  found  to  pass  unprofitably  by,  from, 
in  part,  this  very  circumstance  !  It  were,  perhaps,  well  worth 
while  to  inquire  whether  the  coldness  and  deadness  of  heart 
"which  are  .so  often  lamented  at  such  meetings,  are  not,  in  de- 
gree, owing  to  the  absence  of  those  appropriate  expressions 
of  the  heart,  which  devotional  poetry  was  meant  to  secure  in 
the  voice.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  there  is  a  plain  question  of 
means  and  ends  often  overlooked,  amidst  a  vain  inquiry  after 
remote  rather  than  present  sources  of  evil. 

The  student,  in  practising  the  following  exercises,  should 
fix  his  attention  on  two  points  mainly, — the  deep  feeling  of 
the  sentiment  in  each  example,  and  the  full  expression  of  the 
heart  in  the  tones  of  the  voice.  Next  to  these  points  ranks 
the  correct  *  intonation,'  by  means  of  inflection  and  '  melody  ;' 
so  as  to  keep  the  voice  in  tune,  according  to  the  form  of  poe- 
try presented  in  each  stanza. 

The  full  expression  of  feehng,  is — from  our  corrupted  con- 
ventional habits  in  daily  social  life,  which  withhold  the  utter- 
ance of  the  heart,  and  muffle  the  sounds  of  the  voice, — a 
thing  which  most  students  are  apt  to  shrink  from,  under  the 
very  erroneous  impression,  that,  if  they  give  full  and  free  vent 
to  the  emotion  which  a  hymn  inspires,  they  will  appear  af- 
fected or  theatrically  excessive  in  style,  or  deficient  in  judg- 
ment and  taste.  The  elocutionist  replies  that  genuine  feeling 
can  never  be  mistaken,  and  that  such  fears  are  unfounded. 
It  is  by  listening  to  such  suggestions  that  our  prevalent  cold- 
ness in  hymn-reading  is  produced.  True  elocution  was  per- 
fectly exemplified  in  the  noble  and  beautiful  and  impressive 
reading  of  the  eminent  individual  before  mentioned  :  no  one 
ever  ventured  the  insinuation  that  his  manner  was  artificial 
or  theatrical.  What  is  needed  is  a  full  heart  and  a  natural  ut- 
terance,— not  labour  and  effort  to  reach  a  certain  style  or  effect. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  301 

Another  source  of  defective  hymn-reading,  is  the  want  of 
discrimination  as  to  the  proper  difference  between  the  tones 
of  ordinary  conversation  and  of  prose  reading, — in  contrast, 
with  the  appropriate  style  of  utterance,  which  applies  to  the- 
language  of  poetry  ;  more  especially  when  the  latter  assumes; 
the  form  of  sacred  lyrics, — the  highest  species  of  all  verse- 
Many  readers  shrink  from  the  full  expression  of  feeling  andl 
imagination,  in  the  high-wrought  forms  which  these  justly  as- 
sume in  the  composition  of  psalms  and  hymns,  because,  say 
they,  such  expression  is  not  natural  or  habitual  to  us  ;  it;, 
seems  forced  and  excessive  :  we  prefer  to  read  in  a  plain,  un- 
pretending style.  Such  is,  usually,  the  plea  offered  for  read- 
ing poetry,  in  its  sublimest  and  most  sacred  forms,  as  if  it 
were  not  only  flat  prose  but  hum-drum,  or  familiar  talk.  It 
is  forgotten,  in  such  cases,  that  the  standard  of  conversation 
and  of  prose  reading  cannot  apply  to  poetry  of  a  lofty  or  a 
solemn  character,  and  that  the  tones  in  which  we  talk  of  do- 
mestic incidents  and  ordinary  affairs,  can  never  be  those  in 
which  we  can  properly  discourse  of  God,  eternity,  and  im- 
mortality. 

But  the  prevalent  fault  of  some  readers,  is,  to  utter  every 
stanza  of  every  hymn  with  one  uniform,  heavy,  and  unwieldy 
solemnity  of  voice,  which  observes  no  distinction  of  subject, 
style,  or  versification,  and  kills  the  effect  of  every  form  of 
sentiment  by  a  dull  monotony.  The  peculiar  vividness  and 
fire,  the  pathos  an^  the  fervour,  the  sublime  force  of  lyric 
compositions,  are  thus  altogether  lost  to  heart  and  ear.  The- 
whole  design  of  the  composition  of  hymns,  is  thus  defeated;, 
and  the  soul  remains  uninspired,  the  feelings  untouched. 

The  minor  details  of  defective  elocution  in  the  reading  of 
hymns,  regard  chiefly  the  application  of  the  rules  of  inflection- 
False  '  intonation'  commonly  consists  in  overlooking  the  dis- 
tinctive slide  of  verse,  as  contrasted  with  those  of  prose.  The 
former  varies  but  little  in  effect  from  the  '  monotone,'  and  does 
not,  in  most  passages,  transcend  the  limits  of  the  interval  of 
the  '  second,'  or  the  slightest  rise  of  voice  except  the  plaintive 
'  semitone.'  The  use  of  the  larger  intervals  of  '  thirds'  and 
26 


302  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  fifths/  turns  poetry  into  prose, — so  far  as  the  ear  is  concern- 
ed. To  persons  whose  ear  is  not  trained  to  these  distinctions 
in  music  and  in  elocution,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  say  that  the 
fault  lies  in  raising  or  lowering  the  voice  too  much  in  a  style 
approaching  to  that  of  question  and  answer,  instead  of  keep- 
ing it  nearly  level. 

The  fault  of  sing-song  reading  is  usually  caused  by  allow- 
ing the  voice  to  drop  at  the  end  of  the  second  line  of  a  stanza, 
instead  of  keeping  it  up  till  the  proper  cadence  at  the  close. 
Thus 

'  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight^ 
Where  saints  immortal  reign ; 
Eternal  day  excludes  the  night, 
And  pleasures  banish  pain.' 

There  are  two  obvious  reasons  why  the  fall,  or  downward 
slide,  at  the  word*'  reign,'  should  not  be  used  :  1st,  the  sense 
is  not  independently  completed  there,  since  the  words  and 
where  are  required,  mentally,  to  fill  up  an  ellipsis  between  the 
second  and  third  lines  of  the  stanza  ;  2d,  if  the  word  '  reign' 
is  allowed  the  '  downward  slide,'  the  corresponding  rhyming 
word  '  pain'  having  necessarily  the  same  '  slide'  at  the  ca- 
dence, a  painful  sameness  of  melody  is  produced  to  the  ear,  as 
if  the  reader  were,  in  the  last  two  lines  of  the  stanza,  repeat- 
ing, in  a  mocking  tone,  his  own  melody  used  in  the  first  two. 

The  rule  of  appropriate  intonation  in  stanzas,  is.  Keep  the 
voice  up,  at  the  end  of  the  second  line,  unless  emphasis,  or 
independent  sense,  or  abrupt  style  authorizes  or  requires  a 
downward  slide  ;  and  let  the  voice  take  a  lower  pitch,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  third  line. 

But  the  worst  of  all  faults, — the  doggerel  see-saw, — is  that 
which  is  produced  by  throwing  the  voice  up  and  down  alter- 
nately in  the  penultimate  line  of  a  stanza, — and  alternately 
down,  up,  and  down  again,  in  the  last  line.     Thus 

'  Eternal  day  excludes  the  night, 
And  pleasures  binish  p'-iin.' 

The  following  exercises  should  be  repeated  till  a  perfect 
command  of '  expression'  and  '  melody,'  is  attained. 


THE  EEADINa  OF  HYMNS. 


Examples  of  Solemnity  and  Awe.* 

Psalm  XC— Watts. 

1.  *  Through  every  iige,  eternal  God, 

Thou  art  our  rest  —  our  safe  abode : 
High  was  thy  throne,  ere  heaven  was  made, 
Or  earth  thy  humble  footstool  laid. 

2.  '  Long  hadst  thou  reigned,  ere  time  began, 

Or  dust  was  fashioned  into  man  ; 
And  long  thy  kingdom  shall  endure, 
When  earth  and  time  shall  be  no  more. 

3.  '  But  man  —  weak  man  —  is  born  to  die. 

Made  up  of  guilt  and  vanity ; 
Thy  dreadful  sentence,  Lord,  is  just, 
"  Return,  ye  sinners,  to  your  dust." 

4.  '  Death,  like  an  ever-flowing  stream, 

Sweeps  us  away ;  —  our  life's  a  dream  — 
An  empty  tale  —  a  morning  flower, 
Cut  down,  and  withered,  in  an  hour-' 

Eternity  of  {roJ.— Watts. 

1.  '  Great  God  !   how  infinite  art  thou  !  — 

What  worthless  worms  are  we  !  — 
Let  all  the  rSce  of  creatures  bow, 
And  pay  their  praise  to  thee, 

2.  '  Thy  throne  eternal  ages  stood, 

Ere  seas  or  stare  were  made  •: 
Thou  art  the  everliving  God, 
Were  all  the  nations  dead. 

3.  '  Eternity,  with  all  its  years. 

Stands  present  in  thy  view : 
To  thee  there's  nothing  old  appears  ^ 
Great  God  !    there's  nothing  new- 

*  The  classification  of  hymns  for  the  purposes  of  elocution,  is  similar 
to  that  of  the  Book  of  Psalms,  exemplified  before.  The  style  of  reading 
as  to  '  quality'  of  voice,  force,  '  stress,'  pitch,  '  inflection,'  '  movement,' 
pauses,  emphasis,  and  '  expression,'  should  be  defined,  in  every  instance, 
before  commencing  the  reading.  The  examples  of  this  elocutionary 
analysis  which  occur  in  previous  pages,  may  senx  as  guides  to  the  mode 
of  performing  this  exercise. 


304  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

4.  '  Our  lives  through  various  scenes  are  drawn, 

And  vexed  with  trifling  cares  ; 
"While  tliine  eternal  thought  moves  on 
Thine  undisturbed  aiFairs. 

5.  *  Great  God  !   how  infinite  art  thou  !  — 

What  worthless  worms  are  we  !  — 
Let  all  the  race  of  creatures  bow, 
And  pay  their  praise  to  thee.' 

'  The  house  appointed  for  all  living.'' — Anon. 

1.  'How  still  and  peaceful  is  the  grave, 

Where,  life's  vain  tumults  past. 
The  appointed  house,  by  heaven's  decree, 
Receives  us  all  at  last ! 

2.  '  The  wicked  there  from  troubling  cease  — 

Their  passions  rage  no  more ; 
And  there  the  weary  pilgrim  rests 
From  all  the  toils  he  bore. 

3.  '  All,  levelled  by  the  hand  of  death, 

Lie  sleeping  in  the  tomb, 
Till  God  in  judgment  call  them  forth. 
To  meet  their  final  doom.' 


Gkandeub,  Majesty,  an©  Power. 

The  Majesty  of  God.— Steele. 

1.  '  The  Lord,  the  God  of  Glory,  reigns, 

In  robes  of  majesty  arrayed ; 
His  rule  Omnipotence  sustains. 

And  guides  the  worlds  his  hands  have  made. 

2.  'Ere  rolling  worlds  began  to  move, 

Or  ere  the  heavens  were  spread  abroad, 
Thy  awful  throne  was  fixed  above ; 
From  everlasting  thou  art  God. 

3.  '  The  swelling  floods  tumultuous  rise, 

Aloud  the  angry  tempests  roar ; 
Lift  their  proud  billows  to  the  skies. 
And  foam,  and  lash  the  trembling  shore. 

4.  '  The  Lord,  the  mighty  God,  on  high. 

Controls  the  fiercely  raging  seas ; 


THE  READINa  OF  HYMNS.  305 

He  speaks  —  and  noise  and  tempests  fly, 
The  waves  sink  down  in  gentle  peace. 

5.  '  Thy  sovereign  laws  are  ever  sure, 
Eternal  holiness  is  thine ; 
And,  Lord,  thy  people  shall  be  pure. 
And  in  thy  blest  resemblance  shiae.' 


Crod  the  -Creator. — "Watts, 

1.  'Eternal  Wisdom,  thee  we  praise, 

Thee  all  thy  creatures  sing ; 
While  with  thy  name,  rocks,  hills  and  seas, 
And  heaven's  high  palace  ring. 

2.  *  Thy  hand —  how  wide  it  spread  the  sky ! 
^     How  glorious  to  behold  ! 

Tinged  with  a  blue  of  heavenly  die. 
And  starred  with  sparkling  gold. 

3.  '  Thy  glories  blaze  all  nature  round, 

And  strike  the  gazing  sight. 
Through  skies,  and  seas,  and  solid  ground, 
With  terror  and  delight 

4.  '  Almighty  power,  and  equal  skill 

Shine  through  the  worlds  abroad ; 
Our  souls  with  vast  amazement  fill, 
And  speak  the  builder  —  God. 

5.  '  But  still,  the  wonders  of  thy  grace 

Our  warmer  passions  move ; 
Here  we  behold  our  Saviour's  face, 
And  we  adore  his  love.' 


Psalm  XIX.— Addison. 

1 .  '  The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim, 

2.  '  The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display, 

*  Change  of  expression  from  awe  to  gratitude,  blending  ardour  and 
tenderness. 

26* 


306  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  almighty  hand. 

3.  '  Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 

The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly,  to  the  listening  earth, 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth ;  — 

4.  '  While  all  the  stars  that  round  her  bum, 
And  all  the  planets,  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings,  as  they  roll. 

And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

5.  '  What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 

Move  round  this  dark  terrestrial  ball  — 
What  though  nor  real  voice,  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  1  — 

6.  '  In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 

And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice ; 
Forever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
"  The  hand  that  made  us  is  Divine."  ' 

Pscdm  XrX.— Watts. 

1.  '  The  heavens  declare  thy  glory.  Lord, 

In  every  star  thy  wisdom  shines ; 

But  when  our  eyes  behold  thy  word, 

We  read  thy  name  in  fairer  lines. 

2.  '  The  rolling  sun  —  the  changing  light. 

And  nights,  and  days,  thy  power  confess  ; 
But  that  blest  volume  thou  hast  writ 
Reveals  thy  justice  and  thy  grace. 

3.  '  Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  convey  thy  praise 

Round  all  the  earth  —  and  never  stand ; 
So  when  thy  truth  began  its  race, 
It  touched  and  glanced  on  every  land. 

4.  '  Nor  shall  thy  spreading  gospel  rest. 

Till  through  the  world  thy  truth  has  run ; 
Till  Christ  has  all  the  nations  blest, 
Which  see  the  light,  or  feel  the  sun. 

5.  '  Great  Sun  of  Righteousness,  arise  ! 

Oh !  bless  the  world  with  heavenly  light ! 
Thy  gospel  makes  the  simple  wise  : 
Thy  laws  are  pure  —  thy  judgments  right. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  307 

'  Thy  noblest  wonders  here  we  view, 

In  souls  renewed  and  sins  forgiven :  — 
Lord,  cleanse  my  sins  —  my  soul  renew. 

And  make  thy  word  my  guide  to  heaven.' 


Resurrection  of  Christ. — Scott. 

1.  'Awake,  our  drowsy  souls, 

And  burst  the  slothful  band  ; 
The  wonders  of  this  day 

Our  noblest  songs  demand  : 
Auspicious  morn  !   thy  blissful  rays 
Bright  Seraphs  hail,  in  songs  of  praise. 

2.  'At  thy  approaching  da-\vn, 

Reluctant  death  resigned 
The  glorious  Prince  of  life, 

In  dark  domains  confined  : 
Th'  angelic  host  around  him  bends, 
And  midst  their  shouts  the  God  ascends. 

3.  '  All  hail,  triumphant  Lord  ! 

Heaven  with  hosannahs  rings  ; 
"While  earth,  in  humbler  strains, 
Thy  praise  responsive  sings  ! 
"  Worthy  art  thou,  who  once  wast  slain  — 
Through  endless  years  to  live  and  reignJ 

4.  '  Gird  on,  Great  God,  thy  sword, 

Ascend  thy  conquering  car, 
While  justice,  truth,  and  love, 

Maintain  the  glorious  war : 
Victorious,  thou  thy  foes  shalt  tread, 
And  sin  and  hell  in  triumph  lead.' 


The  Final  Judgment. — Oliver. 

L  'Lo  !   he  comes,  with  clouds  descending, 
Once  for  favoured  sinners  slain ! 
Thousand,  thousand  saints  attending, 
Swell  the  triumph  of  his  train : 

Hallelujah  ! 
Jesus  comes  —  and  comes  to  reign. 

2.  '  Every  eye  shall  now  behold  him, 
Eobed  in  dreadful  majesty  ! 


308  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Those  who  set  at  nought  and  sold  him, 
Pierced,  and  nailed  him  to  the  tree. 

Deeply  wailing, 
Shall  the  true  Messiah  see  ! 

3.  '  When  the  solemn  trump  has  sounded, 

Heaven  and  earth  shall  flee  away ; 

All  who  hate  him  must,  confounded, 

Hear  the  summons  of  that  day  — 

"  Come  to  Judgment !  — 
Come  to  judgment !  —  come  away." 

4.  '  Yea,  amen  !  —  let  all  adore  thee, 

High  on  thine  eternal  throne ! 
Saviour,  take  the  power  and  glory ; 
Make  thy  righteous  sentence  known ! 

Oh !    come  quickly  — 
Claim  the  kingdom  for  thine  own !' 


Eefose,  Tranquillity,  and  Serenity. 

A  submissive  and  docile  Spirit. — Anon. 

1.  *  Thou  boundless  source  of  every  good  ! 

Our  best  desires  fulfil : 
Help  us  to  adore  thy  boundless  grace, 
And  mark  thy  sovereign  will. 

2.  '  In  all  thy  mercies  may  our  souls 

Thy  bounteous  goodness  see  ; 

Nor  let  the  gifts  thy  gi-ace  imparts 

Estrange  our  hearts  from  thee. 

3.  '  Teach  us,  in  time  of  deep  distress, 

To  own  thy  hand,  O  God  ! 
And  in  submissive  silence  learn 
The  lessons  of  thy  rod. 

4.  *  In  every  changing  scene  of  life, 

Whate'er  that  scene  may  be. 
Give  us  a  meek  and  humble  mind, 
A  mind  at  peace  with  thee. 

5.  '  Do  thou  direct  our  steps  aright. 

Help  us  thy  name  to  fear ; 
Oh !  give  us  grace  to  watch  and  pray. 
And  strength  to  persevere. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  309 

'  Then  may  we  close  our  eyes  in  death, 

Free  from  distracting  care ; 
For  death  is  life  —  and  labour  rest, 

If  thou  art  with  us  there.' 


Co7itentment. — Steele. 

1.  '  Father,  whate'er  of  earthly  bliss 

Thy  sovereign  will  denies, 
Accepted  at  thy  throne  of  grace 
Let  this  petition  rise  : — 

2.  "  Give  me  a  calm,  a  thankful  heart, 

From  every  murmur  free  ; 
The  blessings  of  thy  grace  impart. 
And  make  me  live  to  thee. 

3.  "  Oh  !   let  the  hope  that  thou  art  mine, 

My  life  and  death  attend  — 
Thy  presence  through  my  journey  shine, 
And  crown  my  journey's  end."  ' 

Adoration,  Eesignation,  and  Trust. — H.  M.  Williams. 

1.  '  While  thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power ! 

Be  my  vain  wishes  stilled  5 

And  may  this  consecrated  hour 

With  better  hopes  be  filled. 

2.  '  Thy  love  the  power  of  thought  bestowed ; 

To  thee  my  thoughts  would  soar : 
Thy  mercy  o'er  my  life  has  flowed ; 
That  mercy  I  adore. 

3.  '  In  each  event  of  life,  how  clear 

Thy  ruling  hand  I  see  ! 
Each  blessing  to  my  soul  more  dear, 
Because  conferred  by  thee. 

4.  '  In  every  joy  that  crowns  my  days. 

In  every  pain  I  bear. 
My  heart  shall  find  delight  in  praise, 
Or  seek  relief  in  prayer, 

5.  '  When  gladness  wings  my  favoured  hour. 

Thy  love  my  thoughts  shall  fill ; 
Resigned,  when  storms  of  sorrow  lower, 
My  soul  shall  meet  thy  will. 


810  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

6.  '  My  lifted  eye,  without  a  tear, 

The  gathering  storm  shall  see ; 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  know  no  fear ; 
That  heart  will  rest  on  thee.' 

Psalm  XL VI.— Watts. 

1.  '  God  is  the  refuge  of  his  saints, 

When  storms  of  sharp  distress  invade ; 
Ere  we  can  offer  our  complaints. 
Behold  him  present  jyith  his  aid ! 

2.  '  Loud  may  the  troubled  ocean  roar  — 

In  sacred  peace  our  souls  abide, 
While  every  nation  —  every  shore 

Trembles,  and  dreads  the  swelling  tide. 

3.  '  There  is  a  stream,  whose  gentle  flow 
Supplies  the  city  of  our  God ! 
Life,  love,  and  joy  still  gliding  through, 
And  watering  our  divine  abode. 

4.  '  That  sacred  stream  —  thy  holy  word,  — 

Supports  our  faith,  our  fear  controls : 
Sweet  peace  thy  promises  afford. 
And  give  new  strength  to  fainting  souls. 

5.  '  Zion  enjoys  her  Monarch's  love, 

Secure  against  a  threatening  hour 
Nor  can  her  firm  foundation  move. 

Built  on  his  truth  —  and  armed  with  power.' 

Joy,  Praise,  and  Triumph. 

The  Seasons. — Dwight, 

1.  'How  pleasing  is  the  voice 

Of  God,  our  heavenly  King, 
Wlio  bids  the  frosts  retire. 
And  wakes  the  lovely  spring ! 
Bright  suns  arise,  1    And  beauty  glows. 

The  mild  wind  blows,       I    Thro'  earth  and  skies 

2.  *  The  morn,  with  glory  crowned, 

His  hand  arrays  in  smiles : 
He  bids  the  eve  decline, 
Bejoicing  o'er  the  hills ; 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  311 

The  evening  breeze  i    His  beauty  blooms 

His  breath  perfumes ;        |    In  flowers  and  trees. 

3.  '  With  life  he  clothes  the  spring, 

The  earth  Avith  summer  warms : 
He  spreads  th'  autumnal  feast, 
And  rides  on  wintry  storms  : 
His  gifts  divine  i    And  round  the  year 

Through  all  appear ;         |    His  glories  shine.' 

Praise. — Mrs.  Barbauld. 

1.  'Praise  to  God!  —  immortal  praise, 
For  the  love  that  crowns  our  days : 
Bounteous  Source  of  every  joy. 
Let  thy  praise  our  tongues  employ. 

2.  'All  that  spring,  with  bounteous  hand, 

Scatters  o'er  the  smiling  land ; 
All  that  liberal  autumn  pours 
From  her  rich,  o'ei-floAving  stores, — 

3.  '  These,  to  that  dear  Source  we  owe 
Whence  our  sweetest  comforts  flow ; 
These,  through  all  my  happy  days, 
Claim  my  cheerful  songs  of  praise. 

4.  '  Lord,  to  thee  my  soul  should  raise 

Grateful,  never-ending  praise ; 
And,  when  every  blessing's  flown, 
Love  thee  for  thyself  alone.' 

Psalm  C— Watts. 
L  'Before  Jehovah's  awful  throne, 
Ye  nations,  bow  with  sacred  joy : 
Know  that  tjie  Lord  is  God  alone  ; 
He  can  create,  and  he  destroy. 

2.  '  His  powerful  word,  which  all  things  made, 

Gave  life  to  clay,  and  formed  us  men ; 
And,  when  like  wandering  sheep  we  strayed. 
He  brought  us  to  his  fold  again. 

3.  '  We  are  his  people,  we  his  care, 

Our  nobler  and  our  meaner  frame : 
What  lasting  honours  can  we  rear, 
Almighty  Maker,  to  thy  name  ? 


312  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

4.  ' "We'll  crowd  thy  gates  with  thankful  songs; 
High  as  the  heavens  our  voices  raise  ; 
And  earth,  with  her  ten  thousand  tongues, 
Shall  fill  thy  courts  with  sounding  praise. 

5.  '  Wide  as  the  world  is  thy  command  ; 

Vast  as  eternity  Uiy  love ; 

Firm  as  thy  throne  thy  truth  shall  stand, 

When  rolling  years  shall  cease  to  move.' 

Praise. — ^Anon. 

1.  'Praise  to  thee,  thou  great  Creator ! 

Praise  to  thee  from  every  tongue : 
Join,  my  soul,  with  every  creature. 
Join  the  universal  song. 

2.  '  Father !  Source  of  all  compassion ! 

Pure,  unbounded  grace  is  thine : 
Hail  the  God  of  our  salvation ! 
Praise  him  for  his  love  divine. 

3.  '  For  ten  thousand  blessings  given. 

For  the  hope  of  future  joy, 
Sound  his  praise  through  earth  and  heaven, 
Sound  Jehovah's  praise  on  high. 

4.  '  Joyfully  on  earth  adore  him, 

Till  in  heaven  our  song  we  raise ; 

Thei-e,  enraptured,  fall  before  him, 

Lost  in  wonder,  love,  and  praise.' 

Gratitude. — Addison. 

1.  'When  all  thy  mercies,  0  my  God, 

My  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view,  I'm.  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

2.  '  Unnumbered  comforts  to  my  soul 

Thy  tender  care  bestowed. 
Before  my  infant  heart  conceived 
From  whom  those  comforts  flowed. 

3.  '  When  in  the  slippery  paths  of  youth 

With  heedless  steps  I  ran. 
Thine  arm,  unseen,  conveyed  me  safe. 
And  led  me  up  to  man. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  31$- 

4.  '  Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 

My  daily  thanks  employ ; 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart, 
That  tastes  those  gifts  with  joy. 

5.  '  Through  every  period  of  my  life, 

Thy  goodness  I'll  pursue ; 
And  after  death,  in  distant  worlds, 
The  glorious  theme  renew. 

6.  '  Through  all  eternity,  to  thee 

A  jo}^ul  song  I'll  raise : 

But  oh  !  eternity's  too  short 

To  utter  all  thy  praise !' 

Worship. — Watts. 

1.  '  Sweet  is  the  work,  my  God,  my  King, 

To  praise  thy  name,  give  thanks,  and  sing  — 
To  show  thy  love  by  morning  light, 
And  talk  of  all  thy  truth  at  night. 

2.  '  Sweet  is  the  day  of  sacred  rest- 
No  mortal  care  shall  seize  my  breast ; 
Oh  !  may  my  heart  in  tune  be  founds 
Like  David's  harp  of  solemn  sound. 

3.  '  My  heart  shall  triumph  in  my  Lord, 

And  bless  his  works,  —  and  bless  his  word  :  — 
Thy  works  of  grace  —  how  bright  they  shine ! 
How  deep  thy  counsels  —  how  divine ! 

4.  '  Sure  I  shall  share  a  glorious  part. 
When  grace  hath  well  refined  my  heart, 
And  fresh  supplies  of  joy  are  shed, 
Like  holy  oil,  to  cheer  my  head. 

5.  '  Then  shall  I  see  —  and  hear—  and  know 
All  I  desired,  or  wished  below ; 

And  every  power  find  sweet  employ,, 
In  that  eternal  world  of  joy.' 

Worship. — Watts. 
1.  'Lord  of  the  worlds  above. 

How  pleasant  and  how  fair 
The  dwellings  of  thy  love, 
Thine  earthly  temples  are ! 
27 


314 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION^. 

To  thine  abode  |    With  warm  desires. 

My  heart  aspires,  (    To  see  my  God. 

2,  '  Oh !   happy  souls,  who  pray, 

Where  God  appoints  to  hear ; 
Oh  !  happy  men,  who  pay 

Their  constant  senace  there  ? 
They  praise  thee  still !        j    Who  love  the  way 
And  happy  they,  I    To  Zion's  hill. 

3.  '  They  go  from  strength  to  strength, 

Throngh  this  dark  vale  of  tears, 
Till  each  arrives  at  length. 
Till  each  in  heaven  appears : 
Oh  !  glorious  seat,  I    Shall  thither  bring 

When  God  our  king  |    Our  willing  feet/ 

Design  of  Gkrisfs  Advent. — Doddridge. 

1.  '  Hark  !  the  glad  sound !  the  Saviour  comes, - 

The  SaAaour  promised  long ! 
Let  every  heart  prepare  a  throne,  . 
And  every  voice  a  song. 

2.  '  He  comes — the  prisoner  to  release. 

In  Satan's  bondage  held  : 
The  gates  of  brass  before  him  burst. 
The  iron  fetters  yield. 

3.  '  He  comes  —  from  thickest  films  of  vice 

To  clear  the  mental  ray ; 
And  on  the  eyes  oppressed  with  night  — 
To  pour  celestial  day. 

4.  '  He  comes  —  the  broken  heart  to  bind, 

The  bleeding  soul  to  cure ; 
And,  with  the  treasures  of  his  grace, 
To  enrich  the  humble  poor. 

5.  '  Our  glad  hosannas,  Prince  of  Peace, 

Thy  welcome  shall  proclaim ; 
And  heaven's  eternal  arches  ring 
With  thy  beloved  name.' 

The  Advent  of  the  Saviour. — Watts. 

1.  '  Joy  to  the  world — the  Lord  is  come !  — 
Let  earth  receive  her  King ; 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  31i 

Let  every  heart  prepare  him  room, 
And  heaven  and  nature  sing. 

2.  '  Joy  to  the  world  —  the  Saviour  reigns, 
Let  men  their  «ongs  employ, 
While  fields  and  floods,  racks,  hills,  and  plains, 
^  Repeat  the  sounding  joy. 

S.  *  No  more  let  sin  and  sorrow  grow. 
Nor  thorns  infest  the  ground ; 
He  comes  to  make  his  blessings  flow 
Far  as  the  curse  is  found. 

4.  '  He  rules  the  world  with  truth  and  grace, 
And  makes  the  nations  prove 
The  glories  of  his  righteousness. 
And  wonders  of  his  love,' 

Redemption. — Watts- 

1.  'Raise  your  triumphant  songs 

To  an  immortal  tune ; 
Let  all  the  earth  resound  the  deeds 
Celestial  grace  has  done. 

2.  '  Sing  how  eternal  Love 

Its  chief  beloved  chose, 
And  bade  him  raise  our  ruined  race 
From  their  abyss  of  woes, 

3.  '  His  hand  no  thunder  bears, 

No  ten-or  clothes  his  brow, 
No  bolts  to  drive  our  guilty  souls 
To  fiercer  flames  below. 

4.  '"'Twas  mercy  filled  the  throne, 

And  wrath  stood  silent  by. 
When  Christ  was  sent  with  pardons  down 
To  rebels  doomed  to  die. 

5.  '  Now,  sinners,  dry  your  tears. 

Let  hopeless  sorrow  cease ; 

Bow  to  the  sceptre  of  his  love, 

And  take  the  offered  peace.' 

The  Resurrection  of  Jesus. — Anon. 
1.  '  Christ,  the  Lord,  is  risen  to-day 
Sons  of  men,  and  angels  say  J 


316  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Raise  your  songs  of  triumph  high  ; 
Sing  ye  hearens  —  and  earth,  reply. 

2.  '  Love's  redeeming  work  is  done ;  — 

Fought  the  fight — the  battle  won :  * 

Lo  !  our  sun's  eclipse  is  o'er  — 
Lo !  he  sets  in  blood  no  more. 

3.  '  Vain  the  stone,  the  watch,  the  seal,  — 

Christ  hath  burst  the  gates  of  hell : 
Death  in  vain  forbids  his  rise, — 
Christ  hath  opened  paradise. 

4.  'Lives  again  our  glorious  King  — 

Where,  O  Death,  is  now  thy  sting  ? 
Once  he  died  our  souls  to  save  — 
Where  thy  victory,  boasting  Grave  V 

The  JResurrection  of  Jesus. — ^Doddridge. 

1.  'Yes!  the  Redeemer  rose, 

The  Saviour  left  the  dead, 
And  o'er  our  hellish  foes 

High  raised  his  conquering  head : 
In  wild  dismay,  I    Fall  to  the  ground, 

The  guards  around  I    And  sink  away. 

2.  '  Behold  the  angelic  bands 

In  full  assembly  meet, 
To  wait  his  high  commands, 
And  worship  at  his  feet : 
Joyful  they  come,  I    From  realms  of  day 

And  wing  their  way         I    To  Jesus'  tomb. 

3.  '  Then  back  to  heaven  they  fly, 

The  joyful  news  to  bear  :  — 
Hark !  as  they  soar  on  high, 

What  music  fills  the  air. 
Their  anthems  say  I    Hath  left  the  dead  — 

"  Jesus  who  bled  I    He  rose  to-day !" 

4.  '  Ye  mortals,  catch  the  sound  — 

Redeemed  by  him  from  hell  — 
And  send  the  echo  round 

The  globe  on  which  you  dwell,  — 
Transported,  cry—  I    Hath  left  the  dead, 

"  Jesus  who  bled  I    No  more  to  die !"  ' 


THE  BEADING  OF  HYMNS.  ^« 

The  Hope  of  Heav&i  through  Christ.—W&tts. 

I.  'Blest  be  the  everlasting  God, 
The  Father  ©f  owr  Lord ; 
Be  his  abounding  mercy  praised, 
His  majesty  adored ! 

I.  '  When  from  the  dead  he  raised  his  Sou, 
And  called  him  to  the  sky. 
He  gave  our  souls  a  joyful  hope, 
That  they  should  never  die- 

3.  '  What  though  his  uncontrolled  decree 
Command  our  flesh  to  dust  ? 
Yet,  as  the  Lord  our  Saviour  rose;, 
So  all  his  followers  must 

4.  '  To  an  inheritance  divine. 

He  taught  our  hearts  to  rise  5 
'Tis  uncorrupted,  undefiled, 
Unfading,  in  the  skies.' 

The  Hope  of  Heaven  through  Chist. — ^Doddridge. 

1.  '  Sing,  all  ye  ransomed  of  the  Lord, 

Your  great  Deliverer  sing : 
Ye  pilgrims,  now  for  Zion  bound, 
Be  joyful  in  your  King. 

2.  '  His  hand  divine  shall  lead  you  on. 

Through  all  the  blissful  road : 
Till  to  the  sacred  mount  you  rise. 
And  see  your  gracious  God. 

3.  '  Bright  garlands  of  immortal  joy 

Shall  bloom  on  every  head ; 
While  sorrow,  sighing,  and  distress, 
Like  shadows,  all  are  Sed, 

4.  '  March  on,  in  your  Redeemer's  strength, 

Pursue  his  footsteps  still ; 
With  joyful  hope  still  fix  your  eye 
On  Zion's  heavenly  hill.' 

The  Gospd  Invitation. — Watts. 
1,  '  Let  every  mortal  ear  attend, 
And  every  heart  rejoice ; 
27* 


818  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

The  trumpet  of  the  gospel  sounds, 
With  an  inviting  voice. 

2.  "  Ho !  all  ye  hungry,  starving  souls, 

That  feed  upon  the  wind, 
And  vainly  strive  with  earthly  toys 
To  fill  the  immortal  mind,  — 

3.  "  Eternal  wisdom  has  prepared 

A  soul-reviving  feast, 
And  bids  your  longing  appetites 
The  rich  provision  taste. 

4.  "  Ho  !  ye  that  pant  for  living  streams, 

And  pine  away  and  die  — 
Here  you  may  quench  your  raging  thirst 
With  springs  that  never  dry. 

5.  "  Rivers  of  love  and  mercy  here 

In  a  rich  ocean  join ; 
Salvation  in  abundance  flows. 
Like  floods  of  milk  and  wine."  * 

Worthy  the  Lamb. — ^Anon. 

1.  '  Glory  to  God  on  high ! 
Let  heaven  and  earth  reply, 

"  Praise  ye  his  name !" 
Angels,  his  love  adore. 
Who  all  our  sorrows  bore ; 
Saints,  sing  for  evermore, 

"  Worthy  the  Lamb !" 

2.  '  Ye,  who  surround  the  throne. 

Cheerfully  join  in  one. 

Praising  his  name : 
Ye,  who  have  felt  his  blood 
Sealing  your  peace  with  God, 
Sound  through  the  earth  abroad, 

"  Worthy  the  Lamb !" 

■3.  '  Join  all  the  ransomed  race, 
Our  Lord  and  God  to  bless : 

Praise  ye  his  name. 
In  him  we  will  rejoice. 
Making  a  cheerful  noise. 
Shouting  with  heart  and  voice, 
"Worthy  the  Lamb!"' 


THE  READING  OP  HYMNS.  319 


Pathos,  Entreaty,  and  Supplication. 

The  Cross.— Steele. 

1.  '  Stretched  on  the  cross,  the  Saviour  dies : 

Hark !  his  expiring  groans  arise ! 
See  from  his  hands — ^liis  feet — his  side, 
Descends  the  sacred  crimson  tide ! 

2.  'And  didst  thou  bleed  —  for  sinners  bleed? 

And  could  the  sun  behold  the  deed  ? 
No — ^he  withdrew  his  cheering  ray, 
And  darkness  veiled  the  mourning  day. 

3.  '  Can  I  survey  the  scene  of  wo. 

Where  mingling  grief  and  mercy  flow, 
And  yet  my  heart  so  hard  remain. 
As  not  to  move  with  love  or  pain  1 

4.  '  Come — dearest  Lord,  thy  grace  impart, 

To  warm  this  cold,  unfeeling  heart. 
Till  all  its  powers  and  passions  move 
In  melting  grief  and  ardent  love.' 

Godly  Sorrow. — Watts, 

1. '  Alas  !  and  did  my  Saviour  bleed. 
And  did  my  Sovereign  die  1 
Would  he  devote  that  sacred  head 
For  such  a  worm  as  I  ? 

2. '  Was  it  for  crimes  that  I  had  done, 
He  groaned  upon  the  tree  ? 
Amazing  pity  !  —  grace  unknown ! 
And  love  beyond  degree ! 

3. '  Well  might  the  sun  in  darkness  hide, 
And  shut  his  glories  in, 
WTien  Christ,  tli'  almighty  Saviour,  died 
For  man,  the  rebel's  sin. 

4. '  Thus  might  I  hide  my  blushing  face. 
While  his  dear  cross  appears ; 
Dissolve  my  heart  in  thankfulness. 
And  melt  my  eyes  to  tears. 

5. '  But  drops  of  grief  can  ne'er  repay 
The  debt  of  love  I  owe : 


I 


320  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Here,  Lord,  I  give  myself  away  — 
'Tis  aU  that  I  can  do.' 

Pardon  implored. — Stennett. 

1.  '  Prostrate,  dear  Jesus,  at  thy  feet, 

A  guilty  rebel  lies  ; 
And  upwards  to  thy  mercy-seat 
Presumes  to  lift  his  eyes. 

2.  '  If  tears  of  sorrow  would  suffice 

To  pay  the  debt  I  owe, 
Tears  should  from  both  my  weeping  eyes 
In  ceaseless  torrents  flow. 

3.  '  But  no  such  sacrifice  I  plead 
To  expiate  my  guilt ; 
No  tears,  but  those  which  thou  hast  shed  - 
No  blood,  but  thou  hast  spilt. 

4.  '  I  plead  thy  sorrows,  dearest  Lord ; 
Do  thou  my  sins  forgive  : 
Thy  justice  will  approve  the  word. 
That  bids  the  sinner  live.' 

Christ  a  merciful  High  Priest. — "Watts. 

1.  '  With  joy  we  meditate  the  grace 

Of  our  High  Priest  above : 

His  heart  is  made  of  tenderness, 

His  nature  melts  with  love. 

2.  '  Touched  with  a  sympathy  within, 

He  knows  our  feeble  frame ; 
He  knows  what  sore  temptations  mean^ 
For  he  has  felt  the  same. 

3.  '  He,  in  the  days  of  feeble  flesh. 

Poured  out  his  cries  and  tears, 
And  in  his  measure  feels  afresh 
What  every  member  beai-s. 

4.  '  Then  let  our  humble  faith  address 

His  mercy  and  his  power ; 
We  shall  obtain  delivering  grace 
In  each  distressing  hour. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  321 

The  Pity  and  Condescension  of  Christ — Steele. 

1.  '  The  Saviour  !   oh  !  what  endless  charms 

Dwell  in  that  blissful  sound  ! 
Its  influence  every  fear  disarms, 
And  spreads  delight  around. 

2.  '  Here  pardon,  life,  and  joy  divine 

In  rich  effusion  flow, 
For  guilty  rebels,  lost  in  sin, 
And  doomed  to  endless  wo. 

3.  '  The  almighty  former  of  the  skies, 

Stoops  to  our  vile  abode ; 
Wliile  angels  view  with  wondering  eyes, 
And  hail  the  incarnate  God. 

4.  '  How  rich  the  depths  of  love  divine  ! 

Of  bliss  a  boundless  store  ! 
Dear  Saviour,  let  me  call  thee  mine  — 
I  cannot  wish  for  more  ! 

5.  '  On  thee  alone  my  hope  relies ; 

Beneath  thy  cross  I  fall ; 

My  Lord,  my  life,  my  sacrifice, 

My  Saviour,  and  my  all !' 

Succour  implored  in  spiritual  Conflicts. — Steele. 

I.  'Alas !  what  hourly  dangers  rise  ! 
What  snares  beset  my  way  ! 
To  heaven  oh !  let  me  lift  mine  eyes, 
And  hourly  watch  and  pray. 

2.  '  How  oft  my  moumfal  thoughts  complain, 

And  melt  in  flowing  tears  ! 
My  weak  resistance  !  —  ah !  how  vain  ! 
How  strong  my  foes  and  fears  ! 

3.  '  0  gracious  God  !   in  whom  I  live, 

My  feeble  efforts  aid ; 
Help  me  to  watch,  and  pray  and  strive, 
Though  trembling  and  afraid. 

4.  '  Increase  my  faith  —  increase  my  hope, 

When  foes  and  fears  prevail ; 

Oh !   bear  my  fainting  spirit  up, 

Or  soon  my  strength  will  fail. 


322  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

5.  '  Whene'er  temptations  fright  my  heart, 

Or  lure  my  feet  aside, 
My  God,  thy  powerful  aid  impart, 
My  guardian  and  my  guide. 

6.  *  Oh !    keep  me  in  thy  heavenly  way, 

And  bid  the  tempter  flee ; 

And  let  me  never,  never  stray 

From  happiness  and  thee. 

Pscdm  LI.  Pan  I.— "Watts. 

1.  '  Show  pity.  Lord  —  0  Lord,  forgive, 

Let  a  repenting  rebel  live :  — 

Are  not  thy  mercies  large  and  free  ? 

May  not  a  sinner  trust  in  thee  ? 

2.  'My  crimes  are  great  —  but  can't  surpass 

The  power  and  glory  of  thy  grace  : 
Great  God,  thy  nature  hath  no  bound, 
So  let  thy  pardoning  love  be  found  \ 

3.  '  Oh !   wash  my  soul  from  every  sin, 

And  make  my  guilty  conscience  clean : 
Here,  on  my  heart,  the  burden  lies ; 
And  past  offences  pain  mine  eyes. 

4.  '  My  lips,  with  shame,  my  sins  confess, 

Against  thy  law —  against  thy  grace: 
Lord,  should  thy  judgment  grow  severe, 
I  am  condemned  —  but  thou  art  clear. 

5.  '  Yet,  save  a  trembling  sinner,  Lord, 

Whose  hope,  still  hovering  round  thy  word, 
Would  hght  on  some  sweet  promise  there, 
Some  sure  support  against  despair.' 

Invocation . — Watts. 

1.  '  Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove, 

With  all  thy  quickening  powers, 
Kindle  a  flame  of  sacred  love 
.  In  these  cold  hearts  of  ours. 

2.  '  Look !   how  we  grovel  here  below. 

Fond  of  these  trifling  toys  ! 
Our  souls  can  neither  fly  nor  go. 
To  reach  eternal  joys. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS. 

3.  '  In  vain  we  tune  our  fonnal  songs, 

In  vain  we  strive  to  rise ; 
Hosannas  languish  on  our  tongues, 
And  our  devotion  dies. 

4.  '  Dear  Lord  !   and  shall  we  ever  lie 

In  this  poor  dying  state, 
Our  love  so  faint,  so  cold  to  thee. 
And  thine  to  us  so  great ! 

5.  '  Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heavenly  Dove, 

"With  all  thy  quickening  powers ; 
Come,  shed  abroad  a  Saviour's  love. 
And  that  shall  kindle  ours.' 

Varied  'Expression.'* 
Redemption. — Watts. 

1.  'Plunged  in  a  gulf  of  dark  despair, 

We  wretched  sinners  lay. 
Without  one  cheerful  beam  of  hope, 
Or  spark  of  ghmmering  day  ! 

2.  '  With  pitying  eyes  the  prince  of  grace 

Beheld  our  helpless  grief: 
He  saw  —  and  —  oh  amazing  love !  ^— 
He  ran  to  om'  rehef. 

3.  '  Do'svn  from  the  shining  seats  abore 

With  joyful  haste  he  fled, 
Entered  the  grave  in  mortal  flesh, 
And  dwelt  among  the  dead. 

4.  '  Oh !   for  this  love  let  rocks  and  liills 

Their  lasting  silence  break, 
And  all  harmonious  human  tongues 
The  Saviour's  praises  speak. 

5.  '  Angels  !   assist  our  mighty  joys, 

Strike  all  your  harps  of  gold ; 
But  when  you  raise  your  highest  notes, 
His  love  can  ne'er  be  told.' 

The  Gospel.—'Wa.iis. 
1.  '  Salvation !   oh,  the  joyful  sound  ! 
'Tis  pleasure  to  our  ears  5 


n^ 


*  The  elocutionary  analysis  of  the  stylfe  of  reading,  should  now  be 
ipplied  to  every  change  of  emotion  indicated  in  each  stanza. 


324  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

A  sovereign  balm  for  every  wound, 
A  cordial  for  otir  fears. 

2.  '  Buried  in  sorrow  and  in  sin, 

At  hell's  dark  door  we  lay";  — 
But  we  arise  by  grace  divine, 
To  see  a  heavenly  day, 

3.  '  Salvation  !  —  let  the  echo  fly 

The  spacious  earth  around  ; 

While  all  the  armies  of  the  sky 

Conspire  to  raise  the  sound.' 

Faith.— Waits. 

1.  '  When  I  can  read  my  title  clear 

To  mansions  in  the  skies, 
I  bid  farewell  to  eveiy  fear, 
And  wipe  my  weeping  eyes. 

2.  '  Should  earth  against  my  soul  engage, 

And  helUsh  darts  be  hurled, 

Then  I  can  smile  at  Satan's  rage. 

And  face  a  frowning  world. 

3.  'Let  cares,  like  a  wild  deluge,  come. 

And  storms  of  sorrow  fall ; 
May  I  but  safely  reach  my  home, 
My  God,  my  heaven,  my  all ;  — 

4.  '  There  shall  I  bathe  my  weary  soul 

In  seas  of  heavenly  rest ; 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roU 
Across  my  peaceful  breast.' 

The  heavenly  Canaan. — Watts. 

1.  '  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight. 

Where  saints  immortal  reign  ; 
Eternal  day  excludes  the  night. 
And  pleasures  banish  pain. 

2.  '  There  everlasting  spring  abides. 

And  never-fading  flowers ; 
Death,  like  a  narrow  sea,  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 

3.  '  Sweet  fields,  beyond  the  swelling  flood, 

Stand  dressed  in  living  green : 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  325 

So  to  the  Jews  fair  Canaan  stood, 
While  Jordan  rolled  between. 

4.  *  But  timorous  mortals  start  and  shrink, 

To  cross  this  narrow  sea ; 
And  linger,  trembling  on  the  brink, 
And  fear  to  launch  away. 

5.  '  Oh  !   could  we  make  our  doubts  remove, 

Those  gloomy  doubts  that  rise. 
And  see  the  Canaan  that  we  love 
With  unbeclouded  eyes  ;  — 

6.  '  Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood. 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er, 
Not  Jordan's  stream  — nor  death's  cold  flood, 
Should  fright  us  from  the  shore.' 

Rest  from  Sin  and  Trouble  in  Heaven.— Watts. 
1.  '  Our  sins,  alas  !   how  strong  they  are  ! 
And,  like  a  raging  flood. 
They  break  our  duty,  Lord,  to  thee, 
And  force  us  from  our  God. 

2.  '  The  waves  of  trouble,  how  they  rise  ! 

How  loud  the  tempests  roar ! 
But  death  shall  land  our  weary  souls 
Safe  on  the  heavenly  shore. 

3.  '  There,  to  fulfil  his  high  commands 

Our  cheeiful  feet  shall  move  ; 
No  sin  shall  clog  our  active  zeal. 
Or  cool  our  burning  love. 

4.  '  There  shall  we  ever  sing  and  tell 

The  wonders  of  his  grace. 
Till  heavenly  raptures  fire  om-  hearts, 
And  smile  in  every  face. 

5.  '  Forever  his  dear,  sacred  name 

Shall  dwell  upon  our  tongue, 
And  Jesus  and  salvation  be 
The  close  of  every  song. 

The  Atonement — Cowper. 
1.  '  There  is  a  fountain,  filled  with  blood 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins ; 
28 


326  PULPIT  ELOCUTiaW* 

And  sinners^  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 
Xiose  all  then-  guilty  stains. 

2. '  The  dying  thief  rejoiced  to  see 
That  fountain,  in  his  day ; 
And  there  may  I,  though  vile  as  he, 
Wash  all  my  sins  away. 

3. '  Thou  dying  Lamb  !  thy  precious  blood 
Shall  never  lose  its  power, 
Till  all  the  ransomed  church  of  God 
Are  saved,  to  sin  no  more. 

4. '  Since  first,  by  faith,  I  saw  the  stream 
Thy  flowing  wounds  supply, 
Redeeming  love  has  been  my  theme, 
And  shall  be,  till  I  die. 

5. '  And  when  this  feeble,  stammering  tongue 
Lies  silent  in  the  grave  — 
Then,  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song, 
111  sing  thy  power  to  save.' 

Almighty  Power  and  Majesty  of  God. — H.  K.  White. 

L  '  The  Lord  our  God  is  clothed  with  might, 
The  winds  obey  his  will ; 
He  speaks  —  and  in  his  heavenly  height 
The  rolling  sun  stands  still. 

2. '  Rebel,  ye  waves  —  and  o'er  the  land 
With  threatening  aspect  roar ! 
The  Lord  uphfts  his  awful  hand, 
And  chains  you  to  the  shore. 

3. '  Howl,  winds  of  night !  your  force  combine !  — 
Without  his  high  behest, 
Ye  shall  not,  in  the  mountain  pine, 
Disturb  the  sparrow's  nest. 

4. '  His  voice  sublime  is  heard  afar, 
In  distant  peals  it  dies  ; 
He  yokes  the  whirlwinds  to  his  car, 
And  sweeps  the  howhng  skies. 
5. '  Ye  nations,  bend  —  in  reverence  bend  j 
Ye  monarchs,  wait  his  nod. 
And  bid  the  choral  seng  ascend 
To  celebrate  om-  God.' 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  327 

Diffusion  of  the  Gospel. — Heber. 
1. '  From  Greenland's  icy  mountains, 

From  India's  coral  strand, 
Where  Afric's  sunny  fountains 

Roll  down  their  golden  sand", 
From  many  an  ancient  river. 

From  many  a  palmj  plain^ 
They  call  us  to  deliver 

Their  land  from  error's  chain. 

2, '  What  though  the  spicy  breezes 

Blow  soft  o'er  Ceylon's  isle  — 
Though  every  prospect  pleases. 

And  only  man  is  vile  ? 
In  vain,  mth  lavish  kindness, 

The  gifts  of  God  are  strown ; 
The  heathen,  in  his  blindness. 

Bows  down  to  wood  and  stone. 

3,  *  Shall  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 

By  wisdom  from  on  high  — 
Shall  we  to  man  benighted 

The  lamp  of  life  deny  ? — 
Salvation  !  —  oh !  salvation ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim, 
Till  earth's  remotest  nation 

Has  learned  Messiah's  name. 

4. '  Waft  —  waft,  ye  winds,  his  story ; 

And  you,  ye  waters,  roll  5 
Till,  like  a  sea  of  glory, 

It  spreads  from  pole  to  pole  ^ 
Till  o'er  our  ransomed  nature, 

The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain, 
Redeemer,  King,  Creator, 

Returns  in  bliss  to  reign !' 

The  Final  Judgment. — Newton. 

'  Day  of  judgment  —  day  of  wonders  ! 

Hark  !  —  the  trumpet's  awful  sound, 
Louder  than  a  thousand  thunders. 
Shakes  the  vast  creation  round !  — 

How  the  summons 
Will  the  sinner's  heart  confound ! 


328  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

2. '  See  the  Judge  our  nature  wearing, 
Clothed  in  majesty  divine  ! 
You,  who  long  for  his  appearing, 
Then  shall  say,  "  This  God  is  mine  !" 

Gracious  Saviour, 
Own  me  in  that  day  for  thine  1 

3. '  At  his  call  the  dead  awaken, 

Rise  to  life  from  earth  and  sea ; 
All  the  powers  of  nature  shaken 
By  his  looks,  prepare  to  flee :  — 

Careless  sinner. 
What  will  then  become  of  thee  ? 

4. '  But  to  those  who  have  confessed, 

Loved  and  served  the  Lord  below ! 
He  will  say,  "  Come  near,  ye  blessed, 
See  the  kingdom  I  bestow : 

You  forever 
Shall  my  love  and  glory  know." ' 

Didactic  Sentiment. 
Blessedness  of  the  Righteous. — Watts. 

1, '  Blest  are  the  himible  souls  that  see 
Their  emptiness  and  poverty : 
Treasures  of  grace  to  them  are  given, 
And  crowns  of  joy  laid  up  in  heaven. 

2. '  Blest  are  the  men  of  broken  heart. 
Who  mourn  for  sin  with  inward  smart : 
The  blood  of  Christ  divinely  flows, 
A  healing  balm  for  all  their  woes. 

3. '  Blest  are  the  meek,  who  stand  afar 
From  rage  and  passion,  noise  and  war : 
God  will  secure  their  happy  state, 
And  plead  their  cause  against  the  great. 

4. '  Blest  are  the  souls  that  thirst  for  grace, 
Hunger  and  long  for  righteousness  : 
They  shall  be  well  suppUed,  and  fed 
With  living  streams  and  living  bread. 

5. '  Blest  are  the  men  whose  mercies  move 
To  acts  of  kindness  and  of  love  : 
From  Christ,  the  Lord,  shall  they  obtain 
Like  sympathy  and  love  again. 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  329 

6, '  Blest  are  the  pure,  whose  hearts  are  clean, 
Who  never  tread  the  ways  of  sin : 
With  endless  pleasure  they  shall  see 
A  God  of  spotless  purity. 

7. '  Blest  are  the  men  of  peaceful  life, 

Who  quench  the  coals  of  growing  strife  : 
They  shall  be  called  the  heirs  of  bUss, 
The  sons  of  God  —  the  God  of  peace. 

8. '  Blest  are  the  faithful,  who  partake 
Of  pain  and  shame  for  Jesus'  sake  : 
Their  souls  shall  triumph  in  the  Lord ; 
Eternal  life  is  then-  reward-' 

Christ  our  Example. — Anon. 

1. '  Behold,  where,  in  a  mortal  form, 
Appears  each  grace  divine  1 
The  virtues,  all  in  Jesus  met, 
With  mildest  radiance  shine. 

2. '  To  spread  the  rays  of  heavenly  light, 
To  give  the  mourner  joy. 
To  preach  glad  tidings  to  the  poor, 
Was  his  divine  employ. 

3. '  Midst  keen  reproach  and  cruel  scorn, 
He,  meek  and  patient,  stood ; 
His  foes,  ungrateful,  sought  his  life, 
Who  laboured  for  their  good. 

4. '  When  in  the  hour  of  deep  distress, 
Before  his  Father's  throne, 
With  soul  resigned,  he  bowed,  and  said, 
"  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  !" 

5. '  Be  Christ  our  pattern,  and  our  guide. 
His  image  may  we  bear ! 
Oh !  may  we  tread  his  holy  steps,  — 
His  joy  and  glory  share !' 

The  Life  of  Christ  a  Pattern.— Watts. 
I.  'My  dear  Redeemer,  and  my  Lord, 
I  read  my  duty  in  thy  word ; 
But  in  thy  hfe  the  law  appears 
Drawn  out  in  living  characters, 
28* 


330  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

2.  '  Such  was  thy  truth,  —  and  such  thy  zeal, 
Such  deference  to  thy  Father's  will, 
Such  love,  —  and  meekness  so  divine, 
I  would  transcribe  and  make  them  mine. 

5.  '  Cold  mountains  and  the  midnight  air 
Witnessed  the  fervour  of  thy  prayer : 
The  desert  thy  temptations  knew, 
Thy  conflict,  and  thy  victory  too. 

4.  'Be  thou  my  pattern,  —  make  me  bear 
More  of  thy  gracious  image  here ; 
Then  God,  the  Judge,  shall  own  my  name 
Among  the  followers  of  the  Lamb.' 

Confidence  in  God. — Addison. 

1.  '  How  are  thy  servants  blest !    O  Lord, 

How  sure  is  their  defence  ! 

Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide. 

Their  help,  omnipotence. 

2.  '  Li  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote. 

Supported  by  thy  care, 
Through  burning  climes  they  pass  unhui:t, 
And  breathe  in  tainted  air. 

3.  '  When,  by  the  dreadful  tempest,  borne 

High  on  the  broken  wave. 
They  know  thou  art  not  slow  to  hear. 
Nor  impotent  to  save. 

4.  '  The  storm  is  laid —  the  winds  retire, 

Obedient  to  thy  will ; 
The  sea,  that  roars  at  thy  command. 
At  thy  command  is  still. 

5.  '  In  midst  of  danger,  fear,  and  death. 

Thy  goodness  we  adore ; 
We'll  praise  thee  for  thy  mercies  paat, 
And  humbly  hope  for  more.' 

The  Bible  suited  to  the  Wants  of  Mankind. — Steele. 
1.  'Father  of  Mercies,  in  thy  word 
What  endless  glory  shines  ! 
Forever  be  thy  name  adored 
For  these  celestial  lines  I 


THE  READING  OF  HYMNS.  331 

2.  '  Here  may  the  wretched  sons  of  want 

Exhaustless  riches  find ; 
Eiches,  above  what  earth  can  grant, 
And  lasting  as  the  mind. 

3.  '  Here  springs  of  consolation  rise, 

To  cheer  the  fainting  mind ; 

And  thirsty  souls  receive  supplies. 

And  sweet  refreshment  find. 

4.  Here  the  Eedeemer's  welcome  voice 

Spreads  heavenly  peace  around ; 
And  life,  and  everlasting  joys 
Attend  the  blissful  sound  ! 

5.  Oh !   may  these  heavenly  pages  be 

My  ever  dear  dehght ; 
And  still  new  beauties  may  I  see, 
And  still  increasing  light ! 

6.  '  Divine  Instructor,  gracious  Lord, 

Be  thou  forever  near ; 
Teach  me  to  love  thy  sacred  word, 
And  view  my  Saviour  there !' 


PRINCIPLES  or  GESTURE. 


*Man,  as  a  communicative  and  expressive  being,  naturally 
imparts  his  states  of  thought  and  feeling  by  visible  as  well  as 
audible  language./  His  corporeal  organization  is  adapted  to 
this,  among  the  olher  ends  of  his  constitution.  All  vivid  and 
powerful  emotions  of  the  human  breast,  become  legible,  and 
are  transmitted,  by  their  effects  on  the  features  of  the  coun- 
tenance, the  attitude  of  the  body,  and  the  actions  of  the  arm 
and  hand.  This  fact  is  universally  exhibited  in  the  uncon- 
scious habits  of  childhood,  and,  with  no  less  certainty,  in  those 
of  manhood,  when  under  the  influence  of  earnest  feeling.  "We 
read  each  other's  inmost  hearts  in  a  glance  of  the  eye,  a 
quiver  of  the  features,  a  change  of  hue  in  the  countenance,  a 
posture  or  a  movement  of  the  body,  or  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
more  surely  than  in  any  tone  or  expression  of  the  voice.'  It 
is  but  a  superficial  and  narrow  philosophy  which  leads  to  the 
neglect  of  that  ordination  of  Divine  wisdom  by  which  the  law 
of  language  is  written  on  man's  exterior  frame  as  distinctly 
as  on  his  organs  of  speech ;  and  few  among  the  numerous  de- 
ficiencies of  existing  modes  of  education,  are  greater,  or  more 
unfavourable  to  the  free  and  full  development  of  the  human 
being,  than  the  general  omission  of  such  culture  and  training 
as  might  yield  to  every  youth,  and  especially  to  those  who  are 
destined  to  the  sacred  profession,  the  unspeakable  advantages 
resulting  from  a  perfect  command  over  all  those  natural  and 
appropriate  aids  to  expressive  utterance,  which  arise  from  the 
cultivation  of  the  eloquence  of  action. 

=  Man  expresses  himself  most  naturally  and  most  effectively 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  333 

when  he  obeys  the  law  of  his  constitution  which  leads  him 
,to  use  his  whole  bodily  frame  as  an  organ  of  communication.  ^ 
He  becomes  impressively  eloquent  when  the  breathing  thoughts 
come  *  beaming  from  the  eye/  as  well  as  *  speaking  on  the 
tongue,'  and  '  urge  the  whole  man  onward.' 

Our  conventional  modes  of  life,  which  quench  or  suppress 
expression,  by  withholding  corporeal  action, — the  natural  ac- 
companiment of  speech, — are  as  faulty,  in  point  of  true  taste, 
as  they  are  false  to  nature.  The  very  condition  of  eloquence 
in  address,  is,  that  we  become  sufficiently  exalted  by  thought 
and  emotion,  to  rise  above  such  habits,  and  to  give  sentiment 
an  expression  and  a  character  to  the  eye,  as  well  as  to  the 
ear.  Undisciplined  habit  may,  it  is  true,  carry  this,  as  any 
other  mode  of  expression,  to  excess.  But  the  theory  which 
founds  on  this  fact  a  sweeping  objection  to  the  use  of  action 
in  speaking,  is  not  at  all  more  rational  than  would  be  that 
which  should  enjoin  abstinence  from  aliment,  on  the  ground 
of  the  tendency  of  ungoverned  appetite  to  excess  in  eating 
and  drinking. 

Genuine  culture  would  prescribe  in  this,  as  in  other  depart- 
ments of  expression,  a  strict  guard  against  faults  of  excess,  no 
less  anxiously  than  it  would  solicit  and  cherish  the  power  and 
the  beauty  of  appropriate  and  proportioned  action. 

Another  current  error  on  this  subject  of  gesture,  is,  that  it 
is  a  thing  not  capable  of  being  reduced  to  study  or  systematic 
practice,  that  it  is  a  pure  result  of  unconscious  impulse,  and 
beyond  the  search  of  the  understanding.  So  was  musical 
sound  thought  to  be,  till  man  had  the  patience  to  observe  it 
attentively,  and  trace  its  relations  and  its  principles.  Faithful 
observation  of  phenomena  and  effects,  was  the  condition  on 
which  the  beautiful,  the  profound  science  of  music  was  con- 
structed, and  in  consequence  of  which  it  became  a  definite  and 
intelligible  art,  involving  processes  of  systematic  execution. 

All  expressive  arts  have  a  common  groundwork  of  princi- 
ples. Patient  application  discovers  and  defines  these,  and 
imbodies  them  in  rules.  Study  and  practice  follow,  in  due 
order ;  and  the  result  is  a  recognized  form  of  beauty  or  of 


334  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

power.  Depth,  breadth,  force,  truth,  and  grace,  are  each  the 
same  thing,  in  whatever  art;  be  it  architecture,  sculpture, 
painting,  music,  poetry,  or  oratory.  The  mind  which  sub- 
mits to  the  requisite  conditions  of  patient  and  skilful  investi- 
gation, will  succeed  in  finding,  and  naming,  and  exemplifying 
them. 

The  great  impediment  to  effective  speaking,  so  far  as  de- 
pends on  action,  lies  in  the  defective  character  of  early  educa- 
tion. The  child  is  originally  a  model  and  a  study  for  the 
sculptor  and  the  painter,  in  the  spontaneous  perfection  of  atti- 
tude and  gesture.  Education,  as  generally  conducted,  does 
nothing  to  secure  this  natural  excellence ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, allows  it  to  die  out  of  use,  and  even  displaces  it  by  a 
defective  routine  of  mechanical  habit.  The  awkwardness  of 
the  schoolboy,  and  the  stiffness  of  the  student,  are  proverbial. 
The  minister  in  the  pulpit,  naturally, — we  might  almost  say 
necessarily, — exhibits  the  habitual  faults  of  the  student,  to  their 
fullest  extent.  His  modes  of  life,  if  not  counteracted  by  ex- 
press care  and  due  self-cultivation,  lead  him  to  a  cold,  re- 
served, ineffective,  inexpressive  style  of  action.  So  much  so, 
that  nothing  is  more  frequently  or  more  generally  a  subject  of 
popular  remark,  than  the  coldness  and  the  lifelessness  of  the 
style  of  speaking  usually  exemplified  in  the  pulpit.  In  too 
many  cases,  the  sacred  precincts  seem  to  be  occupied  by  an 
automaton  or  a  statue,  endowed  with  nothing  beyond  the 
power  of  a  mechanical  articulation. 

The  opposite  faults  of  excessive,  redundant,  or  over  vehe- 
ment action,  and  of  laboured  or  fanciful  gesticulation,  instead 
of  a  just  and  manly  style  of  gesture,  are  the  unavoidable  re- 
sults of  an  injudicious  reaction  against  the  effects  of  early 
neglect.  Judgment  and  taste  must  discharge  their  salutary 
office  here  as  elsewhere ;  and  for  the  discipline  of  these  con- 
trolling faculties  education  ought  to  be  held  responsible.  The 
present  order  of  affairs  devolves  this  duty  on  the  individual ; 
and  when  we  advert  to  the  fact  that,  in  addresses  from  the  pul- 
pit, more  than  in  any  other  form  of  speaking,  every  look  and 
action  has  an  immediate  and,  perhaps,  an  abiding  effect  of  the 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  335 

deepest  moral  character,  and  of  the  utmost  moment  to  the  ob- 
jects of  the  sacred  office,  the  duty  of  self-culture  in  this  branch 
of  eloquence,  becomes  inexpressibly  important  to  all  who  are 
already  occupied  in  that  sphere  of  professional  usefulness,  or 
who  are  expecting  to  be  so. 

The  study  of  that  branch  of  elocution  which  consists  of  the 
visible  effects  of  attitude  and  action,  is  sometimes  erroneously 
suffered  to  settle  down  into  an  analysis  of  the  mere  details  of 
gesture,  and  the  application  of  arbitrary  rules  for  the  motions 
and  postures  of  the  body.  Such  study,  it  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say,  is  worse  than  none,  as  it  leads  to  artificial  and  me- 
chanical style.  \  Empirical  directions  and  manual  exercise, 
may  accidentally  take  a  right  shape,  in  some  instances,  and 
aid  in  breaking  up  awkward  tendencies  of  habit.  But  they 
may  also  take  a  wrong  shape,  and  lead  to  the  worst  results  of 
glaring  impropriety.  Genuine  cultivation  can  be  built  on  no 
other  foundation  than  that  of  principles  ;  and,  as  regards  ges- 
ture, the  principles  of  effect,  if  they  are  just  and  true,  must, 
as  was  mentioned  before,  be  identical  with  those  of  all  other 
forms  of  expressive  art. 

The  leading  characteristics  of  expression,  in  whatever  form 
we  contemplate  it,  are,  in  the  first  place,  'perfect  truth,  or  cor- 
respondence to  nature,  as  opposed  to  whatever  is  factitious. 
Referring  to  this  department  of  the  subject,  the  student  de- 
rives the  important  practical  lesson,  that  all  forms  of  action 
are  faulty,  which  are  merely  the  various  phases  of  national, 
local,  or  personal  and  constitutional  habit,  and  do  not  spring 
from  the  sentiment  to  the  utterance  of  which  they  are  applied. 
Under  this  head  elocution  classes  the  superabundant  shrugs 
and  grimaces  of  French  and  Italian  custom,  the  absence  of  ac- 
tion or  the  hammering  gesture  which  mark  the  Englishman, 
the  uncouth  gestures  of  the  Scotchman,  the  narrow,  frigid, 
and  angular  action  of  the  New  Englander,  the  oratorical  dis- 
play of  our  Southern  and  the  grotesque  style  of  our  Western 
speakers. 

The  whole  array  of  artificial  faults  of  studied  manner,  falls 
under  the  same  general  classification  of  violations  of  truth  and 
nature. 


336  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

The  second  prominent  principle  of  oratorical  action,  h  force. 
"Weakness,  in  any  form  of  attitude  or  action,  we  may  pardon 
to  woman,  but  we  cannot  to  man  :  his  prime  natural  attribute 
h  force  ;  and  to  that  native  trait  we  can  pardon  the  absence 
of  nearly  every  other  quality ;  while  its  opposite  can  only 
produce  a  feeling  of  indiflference  or  contempt.  The  vehe- 
mence of  Chalmers,  and  the  very  violence  of  Irving,  pass 
with  slight  censure,  in  the  judgment  of  even  critical  observers, 
because  the  energy  of  soul  which  action  such  as  theirs  be- 
speaks, is  irresistible.  It  becomes,  in  fact,  an  element  of  in- 
describable power.  But  faults  such  as  these  can  be  pardoned 
in  such  men  only.  The  habitual  athletic  displays  in  which 
some  of  our  own  public  speakers,  even  in  the  pulpit,  allow 
themselves,  savour  too  much  of  brute  force,  for  any  deep  and 
permanent  effect  on  the  soul. 

The  third  requisite  in  the  position  and  movements  of  the 
body,  as  connected  with  pubhc  speaking,  is  eniiYQ  freedom^ — 
not  negligence  or  non-chalance,  not  a  vulgar  familiarity  of 
personal  habit ;  all  of  which  are  so  repulsive  to  feeling,  and 
so  inappropriate  in  the  pulpit, — yet  unfortunately  too  preva- 
lent ;  but  that  exemption  from  constraint  and  embarrassment, 
which  is  insepai'able  from  manly  energy  and  self-possession. 
What  a  correct  elocution  demands,  is  the  dignity  arising  from 
repose  and  serenity  of  manner.  The  posture  and  the  mo- 
tions of  the  body  and  the  action  of  the  arm,  when  regulated 
by  this  principle,  are  freed  from  all  confining  or  constraining 
narrowness  and  littleness  of  effect ;  the  attitude  is  easy  and 
therefore  graceful ;  the  action,  liberal  and  flowing  in  its  style. 
Nothing  is  more  indicative  of  the  perfect  mechanism  of  the 
human  frame,  than  the  ease  with  which  its  members  combine 
to  perform  any  movement  or  action, — even  the  most  complex 
and  apparently  difficult. 

The  confined  mode  of  the  student's  life,  subjects  him  to  a 
degree  of  muscular  feebleness  incompatible  with  freedom  of 
action  in  the  body  and  limbs.  Nor  do  the  limited  forms  of 
mechanical  exercise  or  manual  labour,  even  when  habitually 
resorted  to,  prove  an  adequate  preventive.     The  tendency  of 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  337 

these  modes  of  exertion,  is,  from  the  habitual  reiteration  of 
one  action,  which  they  all  imply,  unfavourable  to  the  free  use 
of  the  body,  with  that  unity  and  wholeness  of  effect  which  an 
oratorical  action  demands,  as  contrasted  with  the  style  of  one 
■which  is  mechanical.  The  recreative  exercises  of  a  student 
whose  subsequent  life  is  to  be  occupied  with  the  business  of 
public  speaking,  should  be  free  and  varied,  so  as  to  impart 
pliancy  as  well  as  force  to  the  body  and  limbs.  Active  and 
enlivening  sports  have,  in  all  ages,  and  in  every  community, 
been  recognized  as  an  important  aid  to  man's  physical  cul- 
ture. Health  and  animation  demand  these  as  an  indispensa- 
ble condition  of  their  existence,  and  of  no  class  more  urgently 
than  of  the  sedentary  and  the  studious,  but  particularly  of 
students  of  theology,  who  are  so  prone  to  subside  into  inac- 
tive and  enfeebling  habits, — the  greatest  of  all  obstacles  to 
free  and  effective  speaking. 

Next,  in  importance,  as  an  element  of  oratorical  effect,  is 
the  principle  of  adaptation, — the  moulding  of  external  man- 
ner and  action,  in  consistency  with  the  character  of  the  sub- 
ject of  address,  the  mode  of  thought,  and  the  style  of  language. 
This  department  of  elocution  is  that  in  which,  as  a  man  of 
cultivated  mind  and  accordant  habit,  the  preacher  should  be 
comparatively  perfect.  Yet  his  daily  habits  incline  him  more 
than  other  speakers,  to  be  uniform  and  monotonous,  and  to 
relinquish  his  style  to  the  mere  mechanism  of  habit  and  rou~ 
tine.  The  power  of  adapting  manner  to  matter,  is  one  which,, 
of  course,  depends  on  taste  and  judgment,  and  on  a  culture 
co-extensive  with  the  whole  broad  field  of  criticism,  as  invol- 
ving the  philosophy  of  expression. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  this  subject  receives  so  little 
attention  during  the  progress  of  education,  and  that  a  thor- 
oughly aesthetic  discipline  is  not  a  part  of  the  course  pursued 
at  all  our  public  institutions  for  mental  culture.  The  best  pos- 
sible school  of  instruction,  in  every  department  of  oratory,  but 
particularly  that  of  gesture,  would  be  a  liberal  and  effectual 
education  with  reference  to  the  constituent  elements  of  ex- 
pression, on  the  common  grounds  of  nature  and  art,  but  di- 
29 


338 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


rected  specifically  to  the  forms  of  speech  and  writing.  Tlie 
modicum  of  attention  assigned  to  such  subjects,  on  our  pre- 
sent plans  of  instruction,  is  utterly  inadequate  to  the  purpose 
of  creating  a  sound  and  just  taste,  even  in  regard  to  language. 

The  student  of  theology  needs,  more  than  any  other,  the 
aid  of  such  cultivation.  But,  at  present,  it  must  be  the  fruit 
of  his  own  nearly  unaided  application  ;  for  oar  language  fur- 
nishes but  very  few  works  of  reference  on  such  topics  ;  and 
such  as  we  have  are  merely  elementary,  and  many  of  them 
extremely  defective.  The  personal  study  of  nature  and  of 
art,  with  a  view  to  the  detection  and  recognition  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  expression,  has,  frequently  in  these  pages,  been  sug- 
gested as  the  student's  best  resort  for  guidance  as  to  the  for- 
mation of  manner  and  habit  in  speaking ;  and,  for  the  present, 
it  may  suffice  to  reiterate  the  hint.  Appropriateness  of  man- 
ner can  be  learned  only  from  those  analogies  which  reveal 
themselves  to  faithful  observation  in  the  great  schools  of  gen- 
uine nature  and  true  art. 

The  results  of  such  study  are  always  legible  in  manner. 
Appropriate  action  carries  sentiment  home  to  the  heart,  with 
a  power  not  second  to  that  of  the  fitting  word.  If  the  study 
of  action  as  a  part  of  eloquence,  has,  in  our  day,  fallen  into 
discredit,  the  fact  is  owing  to  the  general  tendency  of  modern 
mind.  We  suffer  our  modes  of  mental  action  to  be  narrowed 
down  to  the  standard  of  a  taste  wliich  is  usurped  by  the  influ- 
ence of  man's  external  condition  and  relations.  We  lose,  ac- 
cordingly, the  benefits  of  that  wider  action  of  the  mind  which 
should  stretch  beyond  such  limitations,  and  aspire  to  a  nobler 
aim.  Our  discipline  of  man,  as  a  being  capable  of  varied  ac- 
tion, is  altogether  inferior,  in  extent  and  living  power,  to  that 
which  was  the  standard  of  former  times.  The  Grecian  cul- 
ture had  a  truer  regard  than  ours,  to  man  as  a  being  designed 
to  exert  an  influence  on  man.  A  liberal  education  derives  no 
small  share  of  its  value  from  the  light  which  it  sheds  on  this 
fact,  and  on  the  path  of  the  student's  duty  to  himself  in  per- 
sonal cultivation. 

All  these,  and  innumerable  other  considerations  of  similar 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE. 


339 


tendency,  become  doubly  impressive  when  we  advert  to  the 
next  prominent  characteristic  of  gesture,  as  a  part  of  expres- 
sion,— grace.  This  trait,  it  is  true,  can  be  more  easily  dis- 
pensed with,  than  any  of  the  others  which  have  been  men- 
tioned. It  is  one,  confessedly,  of  inferior  moment.  We  may 
justly  require,  of  every  public  speaker,  a  manly  force  and 
freedom  in  his  demeanour  and  action  ;  we  may  justly  require 
of  every  speaker,  even  of  limited  opportunities,  the  judgment 
which  enables  him  to  avoid  incongruities  of  voice  and  gesture. 
But  grace  is  a  feature  of  eloquence  which  belongs  to  compara- 
tively high  culture  and  refinement.  Still,  even  this  we  have 
a  right  to  expect  of  the  man  of  liberal  education.  To  what 
end,  otherwise,  were  all  his  classical  studies,  with  their  per- 
fect models  of  expressive  art,  their  atmosphere  of  elegance, 
their  presiding  muses,  and  attendant  graces  ? 

If  there  is  anything  which  more  than  another  displays  the 
incompetent  manner  in  which  classical  culture  is  generally 
conducted,  as  to  its  effect  on  the  mind,  it  is  the  case  of  a  man 
who,  as  a  scholar,  appreciates  every  shade  of  beauty  in  a  sen- 
tence of  Cicero  or  a  turn  of  Horace,  who  hangs  with  a  spe- 
cies of  idolatry  over  a  single  epithet  in  Homer,  or  a  line  in 
Euripides,  who  throws  his  whole  soul  into  the  force  of  an  in- 
terrogation in  Demosthenes,  but  who  addresses  his  fellow- 
men  on  the  themes  of  duty  and  immortaUty,  with  a  half- 
stretched  angular  arm,  which,  under  other  circumstances,  the 
eye  would  recognize  as  the  style  of  paralysis  or  deformity, 
and  who  shortens  even  the  proverbial  step  from  the  sublime 
to  the  ridiculous,  by  uttering  the  former  with  his  tongue,  and, 
at  the  same  moment,  exhibiting  the  latter  with  his  hand. 

A  graceful  style  of  speaking,  so  far  as  regards  the  visible 
part  of  oratory,  resolves  itself  into  a  compliance  with  the  natu- 
ral laws  of  form  and  motion,  which  preserve  curved  and  wav- 
ing lines,  with  free  and  flowing  movements,  as  contrasted 
with  straight  lines  and  angles,  accompanied  by  narrow,  abrupt, 
and  jerking  motions. 

Every  action  of  the  arm,  however,  depends,  for  its  true  ef- 
fect, on  the  condition  that  the  body  is  self-balanced  and  re- 


340  PULPIT  ELOCUTION.    ' 

posing,  not  stooping,  leaning,  wavering,  lounging,  or  reclining. 
Hence,  attention  is  due,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  posture  of 
the  body,  that  it  be  firm  and  free,  appropriate,  and,  at  least 
negatively,  graceful.  The  student's  first  point  of  attention, 
in  personal  training,  is,  accordingly, 


THE  ATTITUDE  OF  THE  BODY,  REQUIRED  FOR  PUB- 
LIC SPEAKING. 

This  point  is,  by  some  speakers,  assumed  as  a  thing  that 
requires  no  special  attention,  and  which  may  be  safely  left  to 
nature  or  to  accident.  Hence  the  prevalence  of  those  stoop- 
ing, lounging,  and  leaning  postures  which  are  not  only  un- 
gainly and  awkward  to  the  eye  of  observers,  but  injurious  to 
the  organs  of  the  speaker,  in  consequence  of  the  false  position 
in  which  they  place  the  trnnk  of  the  body,  and  necessarily  the 
chest  and  lungs.  A  healthful  mode  of  public  speaking,  de- 
mands an  erect  and  open  chest,  for  the  free  unembarrassed 
play  of  the  lungs,  and  the  easy  action  of  the  air-cells,  the 
bronchial  tubes,  the  larynx,  the  vocal  ligaments,  and  the  glot- 
tis. A  stooping,  or  lounging,  or  bent  attitude  causes  a  partial 
sinking  and  narrowing  of  the  chest,  an  unnatural  and  injurious 
position  of  the  whole  breathing  and  vocal  apparatus,  at- 
tended by  a  stifled  and  imperfect  sound  of  the  voice,  a  sense 
of  exhaustion,  and,  perhaps,  immediate  pain  ;  to  all  which  are 
probably  added,  in  due  season, — as  a  consequence  of  the  viola- 
tion of  the  natural  laws  of  vocal  sound,  connected  with  respi- 
ration,— the  successive  stages  of  bronchial  disease. 

A  faulty  attitude  of  body  usually  leads,  moreover,  to  awk- 
ward motions  of  the  whole  frame.  The  speaker  who  stands 
with  bent  knees,  necessarily  inclines  to  a  curtseying  motion  of 
the  limbs,  and  a  swaying  motion  of  the  back,  which  becomes 
peculiarly  noticeable,  if,  as  is  usually  the  case,  the  curtseys 
and  the  half-bows  keep  time  to  a  rhythmical  gesture  of  the 
arm. 

A  true,  firm,  and  easy  attitude,  depends  on  the  weight  of 
the  body  being  supported  on  one  foot  and  limb  firmly  planted, 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  341 

while  the  other  foot  and  limb  are  at  rest,  and  support  their 
own  weight  merely :  the  feet  at  a  moderate  distance  ;*  the 
onet  in  advance  of  the  other,  and  the  toes  pointing  mode- 
rately outward. I  This  is  the  natural  attitude  of  firmness  and 
freedom  combined.  The  common  faults  of  attitude  are  stand- 
ing with  the  feet  feebly  drawn  close  to  each  other,  or  the  op- 
posite error  of  standing  astride;  the  legs  both  sinking,  or 
hoih  braced,  at  the  knees  ; — the  former  causing  a  feeble,  the 
latter,  a  stiff  and  rigid  posture  ;  while  firmness  demands  that 
one  knee  be  braced,  and  freedom,  that  the  other  should  be 
slightly  bent.  Another  error  in  attitude  is  that  of  a  rigid,  in- 
flexible position  of  the  trunk,  which,  on  the  contrary,  should 
yield  and  incline  slightly  on  the  side  that  does  not,  for  the  mo- 
ment, support  the  weight  of  the  body.  Still  another  fault  is 
that  of  bending  forward  too  much  ;  a  gentle  inclination  of  the 
speaker's  body  toward  those  whom  he  is  addressing,  being  all 
that  is  requisite.  The  position  of  the  head  is  often  faultily 
submissive  and  drooping,  or  haughtily  erect ;  propriety  lying 
between  these  extremes.  An  awkward  effect  is  often  pro- 
duced on  the  general  attitude  of  the  body,  in  consequence  of 
placing  the  feet  directly  forward,  or,  perhaps,  even  with  the 
toes  pointing  inward.  The  consequence  of  this  slight  error, 
is,  that  the  speaker's  whole  attitude  resembles  that  of  a  fencer 
in  attack,  rather  than  of  one  man  addressing  others  in  the 
spirit  of  amity  and  conciliation.  Awkwardness  is  to  be  shun- 
ned, not  merely  because  it  is  unseemly,  but  because  whatever 
IS  so,  is  repulsive  and  offensive,  and  hinders  the  speaker's 
access  to  the  heart.  Awkwardness,  it  is  true,  is  no  crime ; 
but  its  tendency  is  to  provoke  mirth  in  the  thoughtless,  and 
pity  in  the  reflective  portion  of  an  audience.  By  no  possibility 
can  a  speaker  who  has  the  misfortune  to  exhibit  such  a  trait, 
produce  an  appropriate  effect  on  the  mind,  as  regards  the  sub^ 


*  About  the  width  of  the  broadest  part  of  the  foot. 

t  The  right  foot,  usually. 

\  Each  foot  would  thus  be  placed  on  a  line  drawn  diagonally  from  the 
front  of  the  speaker's  body,  at  an  angle  of  45^ ;  so  that  the  relative  posi- 
tion of  the  two  feet  constitutes  a  right  angle. 
29* 


842  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ject  of  his  address.  Yet  our  national  negligence  as  to  manner, 
causes  too  general  a  tendency  to  habits  of  the  description  to 
which  we  here  refer.  Five  minutes'  instruction  or  direction 
might,  in  many  instances,  have  sufficed  seasonably  to  remove 
such  defects  from  the  juvenile  elocution  of  the  speaker ;  but 
habit  has,  perhaps,  now  made  them  inseparable  parts  of  him- 
self. 

But  it  is  not  only  early  neglect  that  is  the  source  of  nume- 
rous errors  of  manner  in  speaking.  The  inadequate  atten- 
tion given,  by  teachers  themselves,  to  this  department  of  edu- 
cation, renders  their  instruction  sometimes  erroneous.  The 
pupils  of  some  of  our  academies  are  actually  directed  to  culti- 
vate the  ungainly  habit  of  speaking  with  the  left  foot  ad- 
vanced while  the  right  hand  is  in  action, — a  misfortune  which 
the  Roman  orator  had  to  undergo,  in  consequence,  partly,  of 
the  necessity  of  holding  up  on  his  left  arm  the  burden  of  his 
unweildy  toga,  while  engaged  in  speaking,  and,  partly,  from 
the  analogy  of  such  a  position  to  the  manly  attitude  of  the 
ancient  soldier,  with  his  left  foot  advanced,  in  inevitable  cor- 
respondence to  the  act  of  protecting  his  body  by  advancing 
his  left  arm,  on  which  the  shield  was  worn.  The  use  of  such 
an  attitude,  in  modern  oratory,  throws  over  the  speaker's 
whole  mien  the  air  of  a  blacksmith  at  the  anvil,  whose  object 
it  is  to  bring  down  a  blow  from  the  greatest  practicable  height 
and  distance. 

The  custom  of  some  of  our  academic  institutions  prescribes 
to  the  student  the  habit  of  speaking  with  both  feet  flat  on  the 
^oor,  and  without  the  aid  to  easy  and  graceful  attitude  which 
comes  from  the  slight  raising  of  the  heel  of  the  retired  foot, 
when  the  weight  of  the  body  is  supported  on  the  advanced  one. 
The  consequences  of  this  error,  slight  as  it  may  seem,  are  the 
raising  of  one  shoulder,  and  the  stiffening  of  the  whole  atti- 
tude of  the  body, — one  of  the  most  prominent  and  glaring 
faults  with  which  our  New  England  students  are  generally 
chargeable,  in  the  act  of  declaiming. 

Another  very  common  error  in  the  attitude  of  New  Eng- 
land speakers,  and  one  which  is,  in  some  instances,  enjoined 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  343 

by  erroneous  instruction,  is  the  habit  of  standing  in  the 
square  attitude  of  the  Indian,  or  of  the  English  ploughman, 
with  the  feet  pointing  directly  forward  from  the  body.  An 
inevitable  consequence  of-  this  error,  is,  that  whenever  the 
speaker  advances,  in  the  animation  of  energetic  address,  his 
false  line  of  position  in  the  foot,  swings  round  his  shoulder  to 
his  audience,  so  that  he  has  then  the  attitude,  precisely,  of  a 
fencer  in  attack.  Another  bad  result  of  this  fault  in  position 
and  movement,  is,  that  it  inclines  the  speaker  to  the  habit  of 
frequently  turning  his  side  to  the  body  of  his  audience,  and  ad- 
dressing now  one  portion,  on  the  right,  then  another,  on  the 
left,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  majority.* 

The  slight  attention  necessary  to  point  the  toes  outward, 
enables  the  speaker,  by  the  easy  and  natural  turn  of  the  head, 
to  address  his  whole  audience,  and  keep  them  constantly  in 
his  eye,  and,  by  the  law  of  natural  sympathy,  to  secure  their 
uninterrupted  attention,  by  directing  his  eye  to  theirs, — not  at 
intervals,  but  continually ;  not  now  to  one  part  of  the  congre- 
gation, and  then  to  another ;  but  to  all  successively :  the 
speaker's  attention  being  due  to  the  whole  assembly  equally. 
This  indispensable  condition  of  appropriate  address,  is  neces- 
sarily dependent  on  the  position  of  the  foot ;  as  on  it  the 
whole  attitude  of  the  body  is  founded. 

The  mode  of  changing  the  bodily  attitude,  is  another  of 
those  points  of  practical  oratory,  which  needs  much  attention 
from  the  student.  The  bad  effects  of  neglected  habit,  are 
very  generally  apparent  in  this  particular.  One  speaker 
shifts  his  position  with  a  bold  stride ;  another,  with  a  timid 

*  Austin,  in  his  elaborate  and  eloquent  work,  Chironomia,  quotes,  in 
this  connection,  the  following  apposite  description  of  an  awkward  speaker, 
as  given  from  personal  observation,  by  CresoUius,  in  his  treatise  on  ora- 
tory.— '  When  he  turned  himself  to  the  left,  he  spoke  a  few  words  ac- 
companied by  a  moderate  gesture  of  the  hand ;  then,  bending  to  the  right, 
he  acted  the  same  part  over  again ;  then,  back  again  to  the  left,  and 
presently  to  the  right,  almost  at  an  eqiial  and  measured  interval  of  time, 
he  worked  himself  up  to  his  usual  gesture,  and  his  one  kind  of  move- 
ment :  you  could  compare  him  only  to  the  blindfolded  Babylonian  ox 
going  forward  and  returning  back  by  the  same  path.' 


344  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

and  shuffling  slide ;  one  slips  or  glides  to  one  side,  when  he 
ought  to  advance ;  another  points  his  foot  directly  forward, 
which  throws  him  into  the  shouldering  attitude  already  de- 
scribed ;  some  stand  as  motionless  as  statues,  through  a  whole 
address ;  others  are  perpetually  shifting  their  place  without 
cause ;  and  others,  again,  make  every  change  of  posture  a 
formal  and  laborious  operation. 

Changes  of  attitude  ought  to  be  made  either  for  the  effect 
of  quietness  and  repose,  as  a  natural  relief,  at  the  end  of  a 
bold  passage  of  earnest  address,  or  for  force  of  emphasis  in  an 
energetic  assertion  or  a  warm  appeal.  The  former  is  properly 
a  quiet  retiring  movement,  made  at  the  close  of  a  paragraph 
or  head  of  discourse,  or  at  the  beginning  of  such  a  portion  of 
an  address,  when  the  language  is  less  intense  than  in  the 
strain  immediately  preceding  it :  the  latter  is  a  spirited  ad- 
vance, made  during  the  act  of  speaking,  and  in  strict  time 
with  the  emphasis  of  the  voice  and  the  gesture  of  the  arm. 
In  either  case,  the  movement  is  not  obtrusive  but  is  merged 
in  the  general  effect.  The  frequency  of  change  in  attitude 
should  always  be  left  dependent  on  the  comparative  quietness 
or  animation  of  the  composition  to  which  the  speaker  is  giving 
utterance :  the  former  style  requires  few,  the  latter  may  re- 
quire many  changes  ; — the  former,  retiring ;  the  latter,  ad- 
vancing movements. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  ORATORICAL  ACTION. 

The  prevalent  neglect  of  speaking,  as  an  art,  causes  many 
great  errors  of  habit  in  early  life,  which  continue  unremoved 
in  subsequent  stages.  Among  these,  the  mode  of  using  the 
hand  is  conspicuous.  The  analogy  on  which  the  hand  is  used 
in  oratory,  is  that  of  imparting,  giving,  or  bestowing  ;  as  speak- 
ing is  the  audible  and  visible  impartation  or  communication 
of  sentiment.  The  analogy,  in  detail,  is  that  of  delivering  an 
object, — as,  for  example,  a  ball,  into  the  hand  of  another. 
Such  an  act  requires  an  open  and  sloping  position  of  the  hand, 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  345 

and  a  slight  parting  of  the  two  outer  fingers  from  the  two 
middle  ones,  as  the  necessary  condition  o^  giving. 

The  suggestion  hence  arising  to  the  student,  is  that  every 
position  of  the  hand  which  holds  it  crooked,  or  level,  or  flat, 
or  inclined  upward,  or  which  keeps  the  fingers  confined,  is 
inappropriate,  because  inconsistent  with  giving,  imparting,  or 
communicating.  The  recipient  holds  out  a  hollow  hand,  with 
crooked,  or  bent  fingers  :  the  giver  opens  and  slopes  his  hand, 
and  partially  separates  the  outer  fingers  from  the  others,  as 
mentioned.  The  speaker  who  appeals  to  our  feelings,  expands 
his  hand,  as  the  natural  expression  of  appeal  or  of  entreaty, 
in  the  spirit  of  free  and  persuasive  communication. 

Yet  how  often  we  see  the  hand  of  the  speaker  held  out  flat 
and  close,  like  a  piece  of  board,  or  edgewise,  like  a  chopping 
knife,  or  feebly  hollowed,  like  that  of  a  beggar  receiving  alms. 
Sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  we  see  it  clinched  in  a  style 
which  calls  up  the  associations  of  'strife  and  debate,'  and 
*  smiting  with  the  fist  of  wickedness.' 

The  palm,  (the  seat  of  the  great  expansion  of  the  sympa- 
thetic nerve,)  has  in  it  a  most  eloquent  natural  language.  It 
is  to  the  hand  what  the  countenance  is  to  the  head,  the  seat 
of  expression.  The  free  opening,  then,  of  the  hand,  is  one 
of  the  primary  conditions  of  visible  eloquence.* 

The  use  of  the  arm,  in  oratorical  action,  is  another  practi- 

=*=  Manus  vero,  sine  quibus  tranca  esset  actio  ac  debilis,  vix  dici  potest, 
quot  raotus  habeant,  cum  pene  ipsum  verbonim  copiam  persequantur. 
Nam  cseterse  partes  loquentcm  adjuvant,  hse,  (prope  est  ut  dicam,)  ipsae 
loquuntur.  An  non  his  poscimus  1  pollicemur  ?  vocamus  ?  dimitti- 
mus?  minamm-?  supplicamus?  abominamur'?  timemus'?  interroga- 
mus  ?  negamus  ?  gaudium,  tristitiam,  dubitationem,  confessionem,  poe- 
nitentiam,  modum,  copiam,  mimerum,  tempus,  ostendimus  ?  Non  ese- 
dem  concitant  ?  suppUcant  1  inhibent  ?  probant  ?  admirantur  ?  vere- 
cundantur  ?  non  in  demonstrandis  locis  atque  personis  adverbioram  at- 
que  pronominum  obtinent  vicem  ?  ut  in  tanta  per  omnes  gentes  natio- 
nesque  linguce  diversitate  hie  milii  omnium  hominum  communis  sermo 
videatur. — Quintil.  I.  xi.  c.  3. 

The  value  attached,  by  the  ancients,  to  the  eloquence  of  the  hand,  as 
an  instniment  of  expression,  is  unequivocally  intimated  in  the  fact  that  the 
whole  art  of  elocution  was  comprehended  under  the  term  Xeipovo/ieia. 


346 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


cal  point  of  great  moment  to  the  right  effect  of  address.  The 
confined  and  angular  movements  of  the  arm,  which  take  place 
in  the  natural  and  appropriate  gestures  of  the  parlour  or  the 
study,  when  the  persons  who  are  addressed  are  seated  near  to 
the  speaker,  are  utterly  inapplicable  to  the  act  of  addressing 
a  public  assembly,  in  which  the  speaker's  action  is  to  be  di- 
rected, (if  rightly  performed,)  to  the  remotest  not  less  tlian 
the  nearest  of  his  audience.  The  larger  space,  in  the  latter 
instance,  demands  larger  scope  for  the  arm  in  action,  as  cer- 
tainly as  it  demands  the  full  tone  of  voice  used  in  public 
speaking,  and  not  the  comparatively  shght  utterance  used  by 
the  fireside.  The  style  of  gesture,  then,  in  public  address, 
requires  a  free  action  of  the  arm,  terminating,  usually,  in  its 
full  extension,  in  whatever  line  a  sentiment  prompts,  avoid- 
ing, however,  such  a  degree  of  extension  as  terminates  in  a 
rigidly  straight  line,  which  is  always  an  offence  to  the  eye,  as 
associating  with  a  stiff  or  mechanical  style  of  action. 

A  prevalent  fault  of  gesture,  in  the  pulpit,  is  that  of  allow- 
ing it  to  fall  habitually  in  a  line  drawn  from  the  speaker's  side. 
This  style  of  action  might  be  applicable,  were  all  his  audience 
placed  in  one  long  row  at  his  right  hand.  But  as  they  are 
actually  seated  in  front  of  him,  his  hand, — if  its  action  is  to 
have  any  meaning, — should  be  presented  in  front,  and  ob- 
liquely from  his  own  body. 

A  horizontal  sweep  or  swing  of  the  arm,  is  the  habitual 
gesture  of  some  pulpit  orators.  But  this  style  belongs  only 
to  descriptive  effect,  or  to  that  of  negation  and  removal,  while 
assertion, — the  prevalent  mood  of  speaking,  —  demands  a 
downward  movement  of  the  arm,  more  or  less  direct  accord- 
ing to  the  form  of  a  sentiment.  The  horizontal  line  of  action 
is  that  which  properly  terminates  the  expression  of  general 
ideas,  as  coincident  in  character  with  the  expansive  horizontal 
sweep  of  the  eye,  in  an  extensive  view;  for  the  phenomena 
of  gesture  are  analogous,  in  their  influence  on  imagination, 
to  the  effect  of  ocular  action  on  external  objects,  and  on  visi- 
ble motion  :  hence  the  energetic  character  of  the  descent  of 
the  arm,  in  a  strong  assertion,  the  expansive  effect  of  a  wide 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  347 

horizontal  motion,  the  elevation  and  sublimity  associated  with 
a  lofty  or  ascending  gesture,  the  direct  character  of  an  action 
which  throws  the  speaker's  arm  in  front,  the  wider  effect  of 
an  oblique  Hne  outward,  the  still  wider  of  the  line  extended 
from  the  side,  the  association  of  remoteness  in  time  or  place, 
which  accompanies  a  gesture  directed  obHquely  backward  from 
the  body,  the  appealing  effect  of  the  open  hand,  the  threaten- 
ing and  intimidating  or  the  determined  effect  of  the  clinched 
hand,  the  marked  significance  of  the  pointing  fi:nger,  the  repel- 
lant  character  of  the  extended  arm  and  opposing  hand,  the 
solemn  or  impressive  effect  of  the  upraised  hand  of  awe,  won- 
der, grief,  joy,  adoration  ;  the  supplicating  effect  of  the  clasped 
hands,  the  welcoming  and  appealing  power  of  the  outspread 
arms,  the  triumphant  and  exulting  style  of  the  wave  of  the 
hand. 

A  fault  exhibited  by  some  speakers,  consists  in  a  ceaseless 
motion  of  the  arms ;  the  principle  of  gesture  being  that  of 
applying  the  ictus  of  the  arm  along  with  the  emphasis  of  the 
voice,  and  reserving  the  consummation  of  an  action  till  that 
moment. 

Another  error  is  that  of  keeping  the  arms  habitually  down 
by  the  side,  and,  at  long  intervals,  bringing  them  up  in  ac- 
tion, or  that  of  perpetually  raising  and  dropping  the  arms,  at 
short  intervals.  The  proper  regulation  of  action  is  founded 
on  the  principle  that  the  hand  should  remain  at  the  point  to 
which  it  was  brought  by  the  movement  of  the  preceding  ges- 
ture, till  occasion  call  for  the  preparation  requisite  to  a  new 
action,  and  that  the  dropping  of  the  hand  should  be  reserved 
for  the  completion  or  termination  of  a  sentiment,  and  should 
be  the  visible  indication  that  a  pause  of  considerable  length 
is  about  to  take  place. 

On  the  obvious  fault  of  speaking  without  action,  it  is  unne- 
cessary to  enlarge.  Such  a  mode  of  address  can  be  natural 
only  in  cases  influenced  by  the  second  nature  of  a  habit  of 
morbid  reserve,  or  of  a  constitutional  coldness,  which  disqual- 
ifies a  man  for  the  offices  of  eloquence.  The  frequency  of 
gesture  is  properly  dependent  on  the  character  of  sentiment 


848  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

and  style.  An  essay,  or  a  lecture,  or  a  merely  doctrinal  or 
didactic  sermon,  may  require  comparatively  little  action  ;  as 
the  themes  of  such  discourses  address  themselves  to  the  under- 
standing and  the  reason,  and  can  derive  little  aid  from  sug- 
gestive or  descriptive  gesture.  An  argumentative  discourse 
may,  from  its  earnestness  of  feeling,  require  frequent  and 
strong  gesture  of  the  direct  and  downward  character.  Poetic 
description  and  glowing  appeal  may  need  continual  and  vari- 
ed action,  in  coincidence  with  the  natural  demands  of  feeling 
and  imagination.  The  spirit  of  a  just  criticism, — that  which 
regards  eloquence,  and  every  constituent  of  eloquence,  as  the 
expression  of  the  man,  and  not  of  the  mere  artist, — will  al- 
ways permit  the  vexed  question  of  the  proper  frequency  of 
gesture  to  be  decided,  in  part,  by  the  temperament  and  ten- 
dency of  the  individual.  The  active  and  the  ardent  cannot 
speak  earnestly  without  a  comparative  copiousness  of  action. 
Their  style  of  language,  indeed,  if  true  to  their  nature,  is  such 
as  to  demand  it :  they  incline  to  impressive  moods  of  feeling 
and  forms  of  imagination,  as  we  perceive  by  their  figurative 
modes  of  expression.  Persons  of  a  serene  temper  are  natu- 
rally moderate  in  gesture,  as  they  are  tranquil  in  thought. 
The  reflective  mind  rather  shuns  external  manifestations ; 
and  the  phlegmatic  constitution  causes  it  perhaps  to  seem  un- 
necessary and  superfluous.  The  morbid  condition  of  any 
temperament,  however,  leads  necessarily  to  excess  and  dis- 
proportion ;  and  critical  objections  to  action,  not  less  than 
the  violations  of  principle  in  modes  of  gesture,  are  not  unfre- 
quently  the  fruits  of  an  unhealthy  taste. 

No  influence  is  more  unfriendly  to  a  genial  and  appropri- 
ate development  of  habit,  as  regards  action  in  speaking,  than 
that  arbitrary  criticism  which  makes  one  constitution,  or  one 
temperament,  or  one  tendency,  the  rule  for  all.  One  man 
may  use  but  one  or  two  gestures,  in  a  given  paragraph  ;  and 
his  grave  and  reserved  habit  may  make  his  manner  seem  per- 
fectly appropriate  :  another,  of  more  active  tendencies,  may 
double  the  number  of  actions,  without  seeming  unnatural. 
Gesture  resembles  emphasis  :  its  force  and  frequency  depend, 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  349 

in  part,  on  the  personal  habit,  as  well  as  the  momentary  feel- 
ing, of  the  man. 

A  studied  variety  of  oratorical  action  is  an  impediment 
rather  than  an  aid  to  good  effect ;  as  it  detaches  the  attention 
from  the  subject  to  the  manner  of  the  speaker,  and  betrays  a 
false  conception  of  the  nature  of  gesture,  which  should  ever 
be  regarded  but  as  a  mode  of  giving  freer  and  truer  vent  to 
the  heart.  The  influence  of  even  the  profoundest  study  of 
the  principles  of  gesture,  should  be  a  thing  unsolicited  at  the 
moment  of  speaking, — a  result  on  habit  not  a  trick  of  art, — a 
thing  of  which  the  speaker  is  himself,  at  the  time,  unconscious, 
but  into  which  he  naturally  falls  by  an  intuitive  and  unstudi- 
ed effort  of  his  mind.  The  act  of  speaking  should  ever  pro- 
ceed without  one  separate  thought  of  elocution  or  of  gesture, 
or  any  other  reference  whatever  to  mere  manner.  No  tone 
of  the  voice,  no  action  of  the  arm,  can  be  true,  that  is  a  dis- 
tinct object  of  attention,  apart  from  its  prompting  sentiment. 
Preparatory  practice  itself  should  ever  be  conducted  in  the 
spirit  of  this  unquestionable  fact ;  and  such  matter  only  should 
be  selected  for  exercises,  as  presents  thought  in  vivid  and  in- 
spiring forms, — those  which  naturally  prompt  or  suggest  the 
appropriate  modes  of  accompanying  action. 

Gestures  introduced  merely  because  they  are  graceful,  con- 
stitute a  class  of  faults  which  hardly  requires  notice,  even  in 
the  form  of  censure  ;  the  primary  object  and  aim  of  all  true 
action  being  to  enforce,  not  to  decorate,  sentiment.  True 
grace  is  never  other  than  incidental ;  it  does  not  exist  apart 
from  genuine  earnestness. 

Gestures  which  are  mimetic,  or  merely  imitative  of  out- 
ward effects,  instead  of  being  suggestive  only,  form  another 
of  the  class  of  puerile  faults,  which  only  perverted  taste  or 
deficient  judgment  can  prompt.  Some  speakers  plead  for 
such  modes  of  action,  because  of  their  graphic  and  dramatic 
power,  and  their  startling  effect  on  rude  and  uncultivated 
minds.  But  such  practices,  even  in  the  pulpit,  cannot  be 
cleared  of  the  charge  of  pandering  to  the  low  and  the  vile  in 
taste,  and  of  desecrating  what  the  human  heart  should  ever 
30 


SoO  I>ULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

regard  as  holy.  The  stare  and  the  laugh  of  unreflecting 
hearers,  are  a  poor  compensation  to  the  preacher,  for  the  sac- 
rifice of  personal  dignity,  on  his  own  part,  and  of  reverence 
for  truth,  on  that  of  his  congregation. 

The  minor  faults  of  gesture  are  chiefly  the  followino- : 

Ill-timed  action,  which  does  not  '  keep  time'  with  emphasis, 
but  either  runs  before  or  lags  after  it ;  the  frequent  use  of 
the  left  hand  in  gesture ;  the  incessant  use  of  both  hands 
whether  the  breadth  or  the  warmth  of  a  sentiment  authorize 
it  or  not ;  using  one  or  two  gestures  exclusively,  which  are 
perpetually  recurring  to  the  eye ;  allowing  gestures  to  cross 
the  speaker's  body,  or  to  terminate  with  a  rebound,  in  the 
pugnacious  style  of  popular  debate ;  the  frequent  placing  of 
the  hand  on  the  heart,  when  no  personal  feeling  of  the  speak- 
er is  implied. 

The  character  of  gesture,  in  connection  with  the  different 
forms  of  discourse,  as  didactic  or  oratorical,  was  alluded  to  in 
a  preceding  page.  Attention  is  due,  also,  to  the  effect  pro- 
duced on  gesture  by  the  different  parts  of  the  same  discourse. 
Thus,  the  opening  sentences,  being  usually  of  an  explanatory 
and  didactic  character,  may  need  little  or  no  accompaniment 
of  action  ;  the  illustrative  and  argumentative  portions  of  a 
sermon  may  justly  require  a  more  animated  and  varied  style 
of  gesture ;  and  the  concluding  application,  or  appeal,  may 
properly  call  for  the  highest  forms  of  poetic  and  oratorical  elo- 
quence, in  action  as  well  as  in  language.  A  well-composed 
discourse  may  not  happen  to  be  constructed  on  such  a  plan  as 
literally  to  require  these  gradations  of  effect  in  manner.  But 
every  well-written  composition,  and  every  well-spoken  ad- 
dress, are  always  progressive  in  character,  and  leave  on  the 
mind  the  impression  of  a  climax  of  sentiment  and  style. 

The  appropriate  postures  of  devotion,  are  a  subject  on 
which  too  little  attention  is  commonly  bestowed  by  the  occu- 
pants of  the  pulpit.  The  clasped  hands,  and  the  shut  eyes, 
and  the  bent  body,  are  obviously  not  alike  applicable  to  all 
points  of  a  devotional  exercise.  They  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  the  feelings  which  ought  to  pervade  the  bosom  of 


PRINCIPLES  OF  GESTURE.  55t 

the  worshipper  in  the  sublime  and  inspiring  acts  of  adoration 
and  praise :  thej  do  not  belong  to  intercession  :  they  are  ap- 
propriate only  in  confession  and  supplication.  Every  strain 
of  devotion  has  its  appropriate  tone,  from  the  swelling  notes 
of  adoration  and  praise,  to  the  breathings  of  a  broken  and 
contrite  spirit :  each  of  these,  if  it  issues  from  the  heart 
rather  than  from  habit,  has  its  natural  expression  in  posture  and 
action :  the  former  prompts  the  erect  attitude  and  the  up- 
raised vertical  hands  of  awe,  reverence,  and  blessing ;  the 
latter,  the  bent  frame,  the  drooping  head,  and  the  folded 
hands  of  self-abasement.  Supplication  and  entreaty  raise 
the  head  and  clasp  the  hands  in  earnestness ;  petition  and 
intercession  extend  the  arms  in  the  mood  and  attitude  of  re- 
ception ;  thanksgiving  proffers  the  gratitude  of  the  heart,  as 
9.  tribute  at  the  throne  of  Mercy,  with  open  hands,  and 
downward  inclination  of  the  arms,  in  front  of  the  body. — 
A  very  common  error  in  the  form  of  action  adopted  in  the 
benediction,  at  the  close  of  public  religious  services,  makes 
the  minister  apparently  solicit  a  favour  of  the  congregation, 
instead  of  presenting  himself  as,  imploring  a  blessing  on 
them.  The  false  effect  arises  from  the  hands  being  held 
supine  instead  of  prone,  in  the  act. 

The  reading  of  the  Scriptures  and  of  hymns,  is,  in  the 
practice  of  some  clergymen,  accompanied  by  expressive  ges- 
ture. This  habit  seems  to  be  founded  on  a  mistake.  The 
process  of  elocution  is,  in  both  these  cases,  one  of  strict  read- 
ing, not  of  speaking.  It  is  one  which  calls,  therefore,  for  au- 
dible, not  visible  expression.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  associa- 
tion connected  with  the  custom  in  Anglo-Saxon  communities, 
in  most  parts  of  the  world.  The  Oriental  and  the  European 
continental  style  of  reading,  with  the  full  effect  of  gesture,  is, 
perhaps,  the  truer  method,  if  we  settle  the  question  affirma- 
tively that  vivid  reading  comes  as  near  as  possible  to  vivid 
speaking ;  (and  we  admit  the  principle  so  far  as  the  manage- 
ment of  the  voice  is  concerned ;)  but  the  prevalence  of  gen- 
eral custom,  with  us,  associates  a  subdued  and  repressed  style 
with  the  reverence  due  to  the  Bible  and  to  the  offices  of  wor- 


352  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ship;  and  nothing  but  a  singular  ardour  of  temperament, 
and  a  recognized  pecuHarity  of  personal  habit,  can  render  an 
opposite  practice  generally  tolerable.  In  this,  however,  as  in 
other  questions  of  expression,  the  natural  eloquence  of  strong 
feeling,  is  sometimes  successful  in  breaking  through  the  usual 
restraints  of  custom. 

The  common  distinctions  of  gesture,  implied  in  the  terms 
*  didactic,'  '  declamatory,'  and  '  poetic,'  may  suggest  useful 
hints  to  the  student,  in  connection  with  the  different  modes 
of  action  appropriate  in  the  delivery  of  a  discourse.  '  Di- 
dactic' gestures  include  the  slight  uses  of  the  open  hand  and 
the  discriminative  finger,  in  moderate  emphasis  ;  '  declama- 
tory' action  implies  the  wide  sweep  and  bold  descent  of  ener- 
getic emphasis  ;  and  '  poetic'  gesture  includes  the  character- 
istic loftiness  of  epic  description,  the  impassioned  vividness 
and  fervour  of  lyric  emotion,  and  the  graphic  and  abrupt  ef- 
fects of  dramatic  style.  A  high-toned  prose  composition  may 
demand,  in  delivery,  the  use  of  all  these  forms  of  action ;  as 
its  matter  and  its  style  may  partake  of  all  the  corresponding 
characteristics  of  effect. 

The  genuine  eloquence  of  inspired  feeling  acknowledges 
no  arbitrary  limitations.  But  the  subduing  and  chastening 
influences  of  judgment  and  taste,  ought  to  mould  every  tone, 
look,  and  action,  of  sacred  eloquence. 

The  Rudiments  of  Gesture,  imbodied  in  the  American 
Elocutionist,  will  furnish  to  students  more  extensive  instruc- 
tion in  the  elementary  details  of  this  branch  of  the  subject ; 
and  Austin's  Chironomia,  (copies  of  which  are  accessible  at 
the  libraries  of  some  of  our  public  institutions,)  will  be  found 
to  contain  a  fund  of  information  upon  it,  enriched  by  every 
aid  of  learned  research  and  graphic  illustration. 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES 


READING   AND   SPEAKING. 


English  Oratory. — Addison. 

[This  and  a  few  of  the  following  pieces  may  be  read  as  examples  of  didactic  style. 
But  they  are  introduced  thus  early  on  account,  chiefly,  of  theii  suggestive  charac- 
ter, as  regards  the  formation  of  style  in  reading  and  speaking.] 

Most  foreign  writers,  who  have  given  any  character  of  the 
English  nation,  whatever  vices  they  ascribe  to  it,  allow,  in 
general,  that  the  people  are  naturally  modest.  It  proceeds 
perhaps  from  this  our  national  virtue,  that  our  orators  are  ob- 
served to  make  use  of  less  gesture  or  action  than  those  of 
other  countries.  Our  preachers  stand  stock  still  in  the  pulpit, 
and  will  not  so  much  as  move  a  finger  to  set  off  the  best  ser- 
mons in  the  world.  We  meet  with  the  same  speaking  statues 
at  our  bars,  and  in  all  public  places  of  debate.  Our  words 
flow  from  us  in  a  smooth,  continued  stream,  without  those 
strainings  of  the  voice,  motions  of  the  body,  and  majesty  of 
the  hand,  which  are  so  much  celebrated  in  the  orators  of 
Greece  and  Rome.  We  can  talk  of  life  and  death  in  cold 
blood,  and  keep  our  temper  in  a  discourse  which  turns  upon 
everything  that  is  dear  to  us.  Though  our  zeal  breaks  out  in 
the  finest  tropes  and  figures,  it  is  not  able  to  stir  a  limb  about 
us. 

I  have  heard  it  observed  more  than  once,  by  those  who  have 
seen  Italy,  that  an  untravelled  Englishman  cannot  relish  all 
30* 


354  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

the  beauties  of  Italian  pictures,  because  the  postures  which 
are  expressed  in  them  are  often  such  as  are  peculiar  to  that 
country.  One  who  has  not  seen  an  Italian  in  the  pulpit,  will 
not  know  what  to  make  of  that  noble  gesture  in  Raphael's 
picture  of  St.  Paul  preaching  at  Athens,  where  the  apostle  is 
represented  as  lifting  up  both  his  arms,  and  pouring  out  the 
thunder  of  his  rhetoric  amidst  an  audience  of  pagan  philoso- 
phers. 

It  is  certain,  that  proper  gestures,  and  powerful  exertions 
of  the  voice,  cannot  be  too  much  studied  by  a  public  orator. 
They  are  a  kind  of  comment  to  what  he  utters,  and  enforce 
everything  he  says,  with  weak  hearers,  better  than  the  strong- 
est argument  he  can  make  use  of.  They  keep  the  audience 
awake,  and  fix  their  attention  to  what  is  delivered  to  them ; 
at  the  same  time  that  they  show  the  speaker  is  in  earnest, 
and  affected  himself  with  what  he  so  passionately  recom-  • 
mends  to  others. 

We  are  told  that  the  great  Latin  orator  very  much  im- 
paired his  health  by  the  vehemence  of  action,  with  which  he 
used  to  deliver  himself.  The  Greek  orator  was  likewise  so 
very  famous  for  this  particular  in  rhetoric,  that  one  of  his 
antagonists,  whom  he  had  banished  from  Athens,  reading 
over  the  oration  which  had  procured  his  banishment,  and 
seeing  his  friends  admire  it,  could  not  forbear  asking  them,  if 
they  were  so  much  affected  by  the  bare  reading  of  it,  how 
much  more  they  would  have  been  alarmed,  had  they  heard 
him  actually  throwing  out  such  a  storm  of  eloquence  ? 

How  cold  and  dead  a  figure,  in  comparison  of  these  two 
great  men,  does  an  orator  often  make  at  the  British  bar ! 
The  truth  of  it  is,  there  is  often  nothing  more  ridiculous  than 
the  gestures  of  an  English  speaker ;  you  see  some  of  them 
running  their  hands  into  their  pockets  as  far  as  ever  they  can 
thrust  them,  and  others,  looking  with  great  attention  on  a 
piece  of  paper  that  has  nothing  written  on  it ;  you  may  see 
many  a  smart  rhetorician  turning  his  hat  in  his  hands,  mould- 
ing it  into  several  different  shapes,  examining  sometimes  the 
lining  of  it,  and  sometimes  the  button,  during  the  whole  course 


MISCEtlANEOirS  EXEKCISE3. 


m 


of  his  harangue.  A  deaf  man  would  think  he  was  cheapening 
a  beaver,  when  perhaps  he  is  talking  of  the  fate  of  the  British 
nation.  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and  used  to 
frequent  Westminster  Hall,  there  was  a  counsellor  who  never 
pleaded  without  a  piece  of  pack-thread  in  his  hand,  which  he 
used  to  twist  about  a  thumb  or  a  finger,  all  the  while  he  was 
speaking  :  the  wags  of  those  days  used  to  call  it  "  the  thread 
of  his  discourse ;"  for  he  was  not  able  to  utter  a  word  without 
it.  One  of  his  clients,  who  was  more  merry  than  wise,  stole 
it  from  him,  one  day,  in  the  midst  of  his  pleading ;  but  he 
had  better  have  let  it  alone, — for  he  lost  his  cause  by  his  jest. 
I  have  all  along  acknowledged  myself  to  be  a  dumb  man, 
and  therefore  may  be  thought  a  very  improper  person  to  give 
rules  for  oratory  ;  but  I  believe  every  one  will  agree  with  me 
in  this,  that  we  ought  either  to  lay  aside  all  kinds  of  gesture, 
(which  seems  to  be  very  suitable  to  the  genius  of  our  nation,) 
or  at  least  to  make  use  of  such  only  as  are  graceful  and  ex- 
pressive. 

PtJLPiT  Eloquence  of  England. — Sydney  Smith. 

We  have  no  modern  sermons  in  the  English  language  that 
can  be  considered  as  very  eloquent.  The  merits  of  Blair, 
(by  far  the  most  popular  writer  of  sermons  within  the  last 
century,)  are  plain  good  sense,  a  happy  application  of  scrip- 
tural quotation,  and  a  clear,  harmonious  style,  richly  tinged 
with  scriptural  language.  He  generally  leaves  his  readers 
pleased  with  his  judgment,  and  his  just  observations  on  hu- 
man conduct,  without  ever  rising  so  high  as  to  touch  the 
great  passions,  or  kindle  any  enthusiasm  in  favour  of  virtue. 
For  eloquence,  we  must  ascend  as  high  as  the  days  of  Bar- 
row and  Jeremy  Taylor :  and  even  there,  while  we  are  de- 
lighted with  their  energy,  their  copiousness,  and  their  fancy, 
we  are  in  danger  of  being  suffocated  by  a  redundance  which 
abhors  all  discrimination  :  which  compares  till  it  perplexes, 
and  illustrates  till  it  confounds. 

To  the  oases  of  Tillotson,  Sherlock,  and  Atterbury,  we 
must  wade  through  many  a  barren  page,  in  which  the  weary 


356  i>ULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Christian  can  descry  nothing  all  around  him  but  a  dreary- 
expanse  of  trite  sentiments  and  languid  words. 

The  great  object  of  modern  sermons,  is  to  hazard  nothing : 
their  characteristic  is,  decent  debility ;  which  ahke  guards 
itheir  authors  from  ludicrous  errors,  and  precludes  them  from 
striking  beauties.  Every  man  of  sense,  in  taking  up  an  Eng- 
lish sermon,  expects  to  find  it  a  tedious  essay,  full  of  common- 
place morality;  and  if  the  fulfilment  of  such  expectations  be 
jneritorious,  the  clergy  have  certainly  the  merit  of  not  disap- 
jpointing  their  readers.  Yet  it  is  curious  to  consider,  how  a 
body  of  men  so  well  educated,  and  so  magnificently  endowed 
as  the  English  clergy,  should  distinguish  themselves  so  little 
in  a  species  of  composition  to  which  it  is  their  peculiar  duty, 
as  well  as  their  ordinary  habit  to  attend. 

To  solve  this  difficulty,  it  should  be  remembered,  that  the 
eloquence  of  the  Bar  and  of  the  Senate  force  themselves  into 
notice,  power,  and  wealth, — that  the  penalty  which  an  indi- 
vidual client  pays  for  choosing  a  bad  advocate,  is  the  loss  of 
his  cause, — that  a  prime  minister  must  infallibly  suffer  in  the 
estimation  of  the  public,  who  neglects  to  conciliate  the  elo- 
.quent  men,  and  trusts  the  defence  of  his  measures  to  those 
who  have  not  adequate  talents  for  tliat  purpose :  whereas,  the 
only  evil  which  accrues  from  the  promotion  of  a  clergyman 
to  the  pulpit,  which  he  has  no  ability  to  fill  as  he  ought,  is  the 
fatigue  of  the  audience,  and  the  discredit  of  that  species  of 
public  instruction  ;  an  evil  so  general,  that  no  individual  pa- 
tron would  dream  of  sacrificing  to  it  his  particular  interest. 
The  clergy  are  generally  appointed  to  their  situations  by  those 
who  have  no  interest  that  they  should  please  the  audience 
before  whom  they  speak ;  while  the  very  reverse  is  the  case 
in  the  eloquence  of  the  Bar,  and  of  Parliament.  We  by  no 
means  would  be  understood  to  say,  that  the  clergy  should  owe 
their  promotion  principally  to  their  eloquence,  or  that  elo- 
quence ever  could,  consistently  with  the  constitution  of  the 
English  church,  be  made  out  a  common  cause  of  preferment. 
In  pointing  out  the  total  want  of  connection  between  the  privi- 
lege of  preaching,  and  the  power  of  preaching  well,  we  are 


MISCELLANEOUS    EXERCISES. 


^ 


giving  no  opinion  a3  to  whether  it  might,  or  might  not  be 
remedied  ;  but  merely  stating  a  fact. 

Pulpit  discourses  have  insensibly  dwindled  from  speaking 
to  reading  ;  a  practice,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  stifle  every  germ 
of  eloquence.  It  is  only  by  the  fresh  feelings  of  the  heart, 
that  mankind  can  be  very  powerfully  affected.  What  can  be 
more  ludicrous,  than  an  orator  delivering  stale  indignation, 
and  fervour  of  a  week  old  ;  turning  over  whole  pages  of  vio- 
lent passions,  written  out  in  goodly  text ;  reading  the  tropes 
and  apostrophes  into  which  he  is  hurried  by  the  ardour  of  his 
mind ;  and  so  affected  at  a  preconcerted  line,  and  page,  that 
he  is  unable  to  proceed  any  farther  ? 

The  prejudices  of  the  English  nation  have  proceeded  a 
good  deal  from  their  hatred  to  the  French ;  and  because  that 
country  is  the  native  soil  of  elegance,  animation,  and  grace,  a 
certain  patriotic  solidity,  and  loyal  awkardness,  have  become 
the  characteristics  of  this ;  so  that  an  adventurous  preacher  is 
afraid  of  violating  the  ancient  tranquillity  of  the  pulpit ;  and 
the  audience  are  commonly  apt  to  consider  the  man  who  tires 
them  less  than  usual,  as  a  trifler,  or  a  charlatan. 

Of  British  education,  the  study  of  eloquence  makes  little 
or  no  part.  The  exterior  graces  of  a  speaker  are  despised ; 
and  debating  societies,  (admirable  institutions,  under  proper 
regulations,)  would  hardly  be  tolerated  either  at  Oxford  or 
Cambridge.  It  is  commonly  answered  to  any  animadversions 
upon  the  eloquence  of  the  English  pulpit,  that  a  clergyman  is 
to  recommend  himself,  not  by  his  eloquence,  but  by  the  purity 
of  his  life,  and  the  soundness  of  his  doctrine ;  an  objection 
good  enough,  if  any  connection  could  be  pointed  out  between 
eloquence,  heresy,  and  dissipation  ;  but  if  it  is  possible  for  a 
man  to  live  well,  preach  well,  and  teach  well,  at  the  same  time, 
such  objections,  resting  only  upon  a  supposed  incompatibility 
of  these  good  qualities,  are  duller  than  the  dulness  they  de- 
fend. 

The  clergy  are  apt  to  shelter  themselves  under  the  plea, 
that  subjects  so  exhausted  are  utterly  incapable  of  novelty ; 
and,  in  the  very  strictest  sense  of  the  word  novelty, — meaning 


358  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

that  which  was  never  said  before,  at  any  time,  or  in  any  place, 
this  may  be  true  enough  of  the  first  principles  of  morals  ;  but 
the  modes  of  expanding,  illustrating,  and  enforcing  a  particu- 
lar theme,  are  capable  of  infinite  variety. 


Eloquexce  of  the  Pulpit. — John  Quinaj  Adams. 

The  pulpit  is  especially  the  throne  of  modern  eloquence. 
There  it  is,  that  speech  is  summoned  to  realize  the  fabled 
wonders  of  the  orphean  lyre.  The  preacher  has  no  control 
over  the  will  of  his  audience,  other  than  the  influence  of  his 
discourse.  Yet,  as  the  ambassador  of  Christ,  it  is  his  great 
and  awful  duty  to  call  sinners  to  repentance.  His  only  weapon 
is  the  voice ;  and  with  this,  he  is  to  appal  the  guilty,  and  to 
reclaim  the  infidel ;  to  rouse  the  indifferent,  and  to  shame  the 
scorner.  He  is  to  inflame  the  lukewarm,  to  encourage  the 
timid,  and  to  cheer  the  desponding  believer.  He  is  to  pour 
the  healing  balm  of  consolation  into  the  bleeding  heart  of  sor- 
row, and  to  soothe,  with  celestial  hope,  the  very  agonies  of 
death. 

Now  tell  me,  who  is  it,  that  will  best  possess  and  most  ef- 
fectually exercise  these  more  than  magic  powers  ?  Who  is  it, 
that  will  most  effectually  stem  the  torrent  of  human  passions, 
and  calm  the  raging  waves  of  human  vice  and  folly  ?  Who  is 
it,  that,  with  the  voice  of  a  Joshua,  shall  control  the  course  of 
nature  herself,  in  the  perverted  heart,  and  arrest  the  lumina- 
ries of  wisdom  and  virtue,  in  their  rapid  revolutions  round  this 
little  world  of  man  ?  Is  it  the  cold  and  languid  speaker,  whose 
words  fall  in  such  sluggish  and  drowsy  motion  from  his  lips, 
that  they  can  promote  nothing  but  the  slumbers  of  his  auditory, 
and  administer  opiates  to  the  body,  rather  than  stimulants  to 
the  soul  ?  Is  it  the  unlettered  fanatic,  without  method,  with- 
out reason ;  with  incoherent  raving,  and  vociferous  ignorance, 
calculated  to  fit  his  hearer.--,  not  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
but  for  an  hospital  of  lunatics  ?  Is  it  even  the  learned,  inge- 
nious, and  pious  minister  of  Christ,  who,  by  neglect  or  con- 
tempt of  the  oratorical  art,  has  contracted  a  whining,  monoto- 


MiSCEtLANEOrS   EXERCISES.  359 

nous,  sing-song  of  delivery,  to  exercise  the  patience  of  his 
flock,  at  the  expense  of  their  other  Christian  graces  ? 

Or  is  it  the  genuine  orator  of  heaven,  with  a  heart  sincere^ 
upright,  and  fervent ;  a  mind  stored  with  that  universal  know- 
ledge, required  as  the  foundation  of  his  art :  with  a  genius  for." 
the  invention,  a  skill  for  the  disposition,  and  a  voice  for  the' 
elocution  of  every  argument  to  convince,  and  of  every  senti- 
ment to  persuade  ?  If  then  we  admit,  that  the  art  of  oratory- 
qualifies  the  minister  of  the  gospel  to  perform,  in  higher  per- 
fection, the  duties  of  his  station,  we  can  no  longer  question- 
whether  it  be  proper  for  his  cultivation.  It  is  more  than- 
proper ;  it  is  one  of  his  most  solemn  and  indispensable  duties/' 


The  Fatal  Ealsehood. — Mrs.  Opie. 

[The  following  extract  is  designed  as  an  example  of  impressive  narrative  reading, 
such  as  is  sometimes  introduced  in  discourses  from  the  pulpit.  '  Expression' 
and  'variation'  are,  in  passages  like  this,  the  main  objects  of  attention  in  the 
practice  of  elocution.  The  thrilling  effect  of  the  story  requires  that  these  should' 
be  deep  and  subdued,  yet  intensely  vivid.] 

Mrs.  Opie,  in  her  '  Illustrations  of  Lying,'  gives,  as  an  in- 
stance of  what  she  terms  '  the  lie  of  benevolence,'  the  melan- 
choly tale  of  which  the  following  passage  is  the  conclusion. — 
Vernon,  is  a  clergyman  in  Westmoreland^  whose  youngest 
son,  at  a  distance  from  home  had,  in  a  moment  of  passion, 
committed  murder.  The  youth  had  been  condemned  and  exe- 
cuted for  his  crime.  But  his  brothers  had  kept  the  cause  and. 
form  of  his  death  concealed  from  their  father,  and  had  informed 
him  that  their  brother  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  died; 
on  his  road  homeward.  The  father  hears  the  awful  truth  un- 
der the  following  circumstances,  when  on  a  journey. 

The  coach  stopped  at  an  inn  outside  the  city  of  York ;; 
and  as  Vernon  was  not  disposed  to  eat  any  dinner,  he  strolled 
along  the  road,  till  he  came  to  a  small  church,  pleasantly  situ- 
ated, and  entered  the  church-yard  to  read,  as  was  his  custom, 
the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones.  While  thus  engaged,  he 
saw  a  man  filling  up  a  new-made  grave,  and  entered  inta  con- 
versation with  him.     He  found  it  was  the  sexton  himself;  and 


860  '       PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

he  drew  from  him  several  anecdotes  of  the  persons  interred 
around  them. 

During  their  conversation,  they  had  walked  over  the 
whole  of  the  ground,  when,  just  as  they  were  going  to  leave 
the  spot,  the  sexton  stopped  to  pluck  some  weeds  from  a  grave 
near  the  corner  of  it,  and  Vernon  stopped  also ;  taking  hold, 
as  he  did  so,  of  a  small  willow  sapling,  planted  near  the  cor- 
ner itself. 

As  the  man  rose  from  his  occupation,  and  saw  where  Ver- 
non stood,  he  smiled  significantly,  and  said,  "  I  planted  that 
willow ;  and  it  is  on  a  grave,  though  the  grave  is  not  marked 
out." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes ;  it  is  the  grave  of  a  murderer." 

"  Of  a  murderer !" — echoed  Vernon,  instinctively  shudder- 
ing, and  moving  away  from  it. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  he,  "  of  a  murderer  who  was  hanged  at 
York.  Poor  lad  I — it  was  very  right  that  he  should  be 
hanged  ;  but  he  was  not  a  hardened  villain  !  and  he  died  so 
penitent !  and  as  I  knew  him  when  he  used  to  visit  where  I 
was  groom,  I  could  not  help  planting  this  tree  for  old  ac- 
quaintance' sake." — Here  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  Then  he  was  not  a  low-born  man  ?" 

"  Oh!  no;  his  father  was  a  clergyman,  I  think." 

"  Indeed !  poor  man  :  was  he  living  at  the  time  ?"  said 
Vernon,  deeply  sighing. 

"  Oh !  yes ;  for  his  poor  son  did  so  fret,  lest  his  father 
should  ever  know  what  he  had  done :  he  said  he  was  an  angel 
upon  earth ;  and  he  could  not  bear  to  think  how  he  would 
grieve ;  for,  poor  lad,  he  loved  his  father  and  his  mother  too, 
though  he  did  so  badly." 

"Is  his  mother, living?" 

"  No ;  if  she  had,  he  would  have  been  alive  ;  but  his 
evil  courses  broke  her  heart ;  and  it  was  because  the  man  he 
killed  reproached  him  for  having  murdered  his  mother,  that 
he  was  provoked  to  murder  him." 

"  Poor,  rash,  mistaken  youth !  then  he  had  provocation  ?" 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  361 

"  Oh !  yes  ;  the  gi-eatest :  but  he  was  very  sorry  for  what 
he  had  done ;  and  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  hear 
him  talk  of  his  poor  father." 

"I  am  glad  I  did  not  hear  him,"  said  Vernon. hastily,  and 
in  a  faltering  voice,  (for  he  thought  of  Edgar.) 

"  And  yet,  sir,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good  too." 

"  Then  he  had  virtuous  feelings,  and  loved  his  father,  amidsfe 
all  his  errors  ?" 

«  Aye." 

"  And  I  dare  say  his  father  loved  him,  in  spite  of  his  faults."' 

"  I  dare  say  he  did,"  replied  the  man  ;  "  for  one's  childrea 
are  our  own  flesh  and  blood,  you  know,  sir,  after  all  that  is. 
said  and  done ;  and  may  be  this  young  fellow  was  spoiled  in 
the  bringing  up." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Vernon,  sighing  deeply. 

"  However,  this  poor  lad  made  a  very  good  end." 
•  "  I  am  glad  of  that !  and  he  lies  here,"  continued  Vernon,, 
gazing  on  the  spot  with  deeper  interest,  and  moving  nearer  to 
it  as  he  spoke.     "  Peace  be  to  his  soul !   but  was  he  not  dis^ 
Bected?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  his  brothers  got  leave  to  have  the  body  after 
dissection.  They  came  to  me,  and  we  buried  it  privately  at. 
night." 

"  His  brothers  came  !  and  who  were  his  brothers  ? 

"  Merchants,  in  London ;  and  it  was  a  sad  cut  on  them ; 
but  they  took  care  that  their  father  should  not  know  it." 

"  No !"  cried  Vernon,  turning  sick  at  heart. 

"  Oh !  no ;  they  wrote  him  word  that  his  son  was  ill ;  then 
went  to  Westmoreland,  and  — " 

"  Tell  me,"  interrupted  Vernon,  gasping  for  breath,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  "  tell  me  the  name  of  this  poor 
youth!" 

"  Why,  he  was  tried  under  a  false  name,  for  the  sake  of  his- 
family ;  but  his  real  name  was  Edgar  Vernon." 

The  agonized  parent  drew  back,  shuddered  violently  and 
repeatedly,  casting  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  at  the  same  time^ 
with  a  look  of  mingled  appeal  and  resignation.     He  thea 
31 


362  PTJLPIT  ELOCtJTION. 

rushed  to  the  obscure  spot  which  covered  the  bones  of  his  son, 
threw  himself  upon  it,  and  stretched  his  arms  over  it,  as  if 
embracing  the  unconscious  deposit  beneath,  while  his  head 
rested  on  the  grass,  and  he  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  But 
he  uttered  one  groan  ; — then  all  was  stillness  ! 

His  terrified  and  astonished  companion  remained  motion- 
less, for  a  few  moments, — then  stooped  to  raise  him  ;  but  the 
FIAT  OF  MERCY  had  gone  forth,  and  the  paternal  heart,  broken 
by  the  sudden  shock,  had  suffered,  and  breathed  its  last. 


Musixos  ox  THE  Gkave. —  Washington  Irving:. 
[An  example  of  the  deepest  patlios.] 

Oh  !  the  grave  !  the  grave ! — It  buries  every  error,  covers 
every  defect,  extinguishes  every  resentment.  From  its  peace- 
ful bosom  spring  none  but  found  regrets  and  tender  recollec- 
tions. Who  can  look  down,  even  upon  the  grave  of  an  en- 
emy, and  not  feel  a  compunctious  throb  that  ever  he  should 
have  warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth  that  now  lies 
mouldering  before  him  ?  But  the  grave  of  those  we  loved — 
what  a  place  for  meditation  !  There  it  is  we  call  up,  in  long 
review,  the  whole  history  of  the  truth  and  gentleness,  and  the 
thousand  endearments  lavished  upon  us,  almost  unheard  in 
the  daily  course  of  intimacy ;  there  it  is  we  dwell  upon  the 
tenderness  of  the  parting  scene ;  the  bed  of  death,  with  all 
its  stifled  grief;  its  noiseless  attendants;  its  most  watchful 
assiduities, — the  last  testimonials  of  expiring  love, — the  fee- 
ble, fluttering,  thrilling — oh  !  how  thrilling  is  the  beating  of 
the  pulse ! — the  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye,  turning 
upon  us  from  the  threshold  of  existence, — the  faint  faltering 
accent,  struggling  in  death  to  give  one  more  assurance  of  af- 
fection. 

Ah !  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate  !  There 
settle  the  account,  with  thy  conscience,  of  every  past  endear- 
ment unregarded,  of  that  departed  being,  who  never,  never 
can  be  soothed  by  contrition.  If  thou  art  a  child,  and  hast 
ever  added  a  sorrow  to  the  soul,  or  a  furrow  to  the  silvered 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES.  863 

brow  of  an  affectionate  parent ; — if  thou  art  a  husband,  and 
hast  ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that  ventured  its  whole  hap- 
piness in  thy  arms,  to  doubt  a  moment  of  thy  kindness  or  thy 
truth ; — if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast  injured  by  thought, 
word,  or  deed,  the  spirit  that  generously  confided  in  thee ; — 
if  thou  art  a  lover,  and  hast  ever  given  one  unmerited  pang 
to  the  true  heart  that  now  lies  cold  beneath  thy  feet,  there 
be  sure  that  every  unkind  look,  every  ungracious  word,  eve- 
ry ungentle  action,  will  come  thronging  back  upon  thy  mem- 
ory, and  knock  dolefully  at  thy  soul ;  be  sure  that  thou  wilt 
lie  down  sorrowing  and  repenting  on  the  grave,  and  utter  the 
unheard  groan,  and  pour  the  unavailing  tear, — bitter,  because 
unheard  and  unavailing. 

The  Grave. — J.  Montgomery. 
[An  example  of  vivid  and  varied  '  Expression.'] 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, — 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found ;  — 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  that  rocks  the  winter  sky, 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose, 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh, 

That  shuts  the  rose. 

I  long  to  lay  this  painful  head 
And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 

From  all  my  toil. 

'  Art  thou  a  wretch^  of  hope  forlorn, 
The  victim  of  consuming  care  ? 
Is  thy  distracted  conscience  toEn 

By  fell  despair  ? 

'  Do  foul  misdeeds  of  former  times 
Wring  with  remorse  thy  guilty  breast  ? 
And  ghosts  of  unforgiven  crimes 

Murder  thy  rest  ? 

*  Lashed  by  the  furies  of  the  mind, 

Erom  Wrath  and  Vengeance  wouldst  thou  flee  ?  — 


364  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Ah !  think  not,  hope  not,  fool,  to  find 

A  friend  in  me ! 

*  By  all  the  terrors  of  the  tomb, — 
Beyond  the  power  of  tongue  to  tell ;  — 
By  the  di-ead  secret  of  my  womb ;  — 

By  Death  and  Hcll;- 

'  I  charge  thee  live  !  —  repent  and  pray ; 
In  dust  thine  infamy  deplore : 
There  yet  is  mercy ;  —  go  thy  way, 

And  sin  no  more. 

'^  Art  thou  a  mourner  ?  —  Hast  thou  known 
The  joy  of  innocent  delights, 
Endearing  days  forever  flown, 

And  tranquil  nights  ? 

'  Oh  !  LIVE  !  and  deeply  cherish  still 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  the  past : 
Kely  on  Heaven's  unchanging  will 

For  peace  at  last. 

'  Ai-t  thou  a  rvanderer?  —  Hast  thou  seen 
O^envlielming  tempests  drown  thy  bark  ? 
A  &hipwi-ecked  sufferer,  hast  thou  been 

Misfortune's  mark  ? 

'  Though  long  of  wind  and  waves  the  sport, 
Condemned  in  wretchedness  to  roam. 
Live  !  —  thou  shalt  reach  a  sheltering  port, 
A  quiet  home. 

'  To  Friendship  didst  thou  trust  thy  fame  1 
And  was  thy  friend  a  deadly  foe-l 
AVho  stole  into  thy  breast  to  aim 

A  surer  blow  1 

'  Live  !  —  and  repine  not  o'er  his  loss,  — 
A  loss  unwoi-thy  to  be  told : 
Thou  hast  mistaken  sordid  dross 

For  friendship's  gold. 

'  Seek  the  true  treasure,  —  seldom  found,  — 
Of  power  the  fiercest  griefs  to  calm. 
And  soothe  the  bosom's  deepest  wound 

With  heavenly  balm.  - 

'  Whate'er  thy  lot — whate'er  thou  be,— 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES.  365 

Confess  thy  folly,  kiss  the  rod, 
And  in  thy  chastening  sorrows  see 

The  hand  of  God. 

*  A  bruised  reed  he  will  not  break ; 
Afflictions  all  his  children  feel : 

He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy's  sake  — 
He  wounds  to  heal. 

'  Humbled  beneath  his  mighty  hand, 
Prostrate  his  providence  adore : 
'Tis  done  !  —  Arise !     He  bids  thee  stand, 
To  fall  no  more. 

'  Now,  Traveller  in  the  vale  of  tears, 
To  realms  of  everlasting  light, 
Through  Time's  dark  wilderness  of  years, 
Pursue  tliy  flight ! 

'  There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep,-^ 
A  rest  for  weary  Pilgrims  found ; 
And  while  tlie  mouldering  ashes  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground, 

*  The  Soul,  of  origin  divine, — 

God's  glorious  image,  —  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine 
A  star  of  day. 

'  The  Sun  Is  but  a  spark  of  fire,  — 
A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky : 
The  Soul,  immortal  as  its  Sire, 

Shall  nevee  die.' 

The  Gallican  Church,  at  the  Period  op  the  Revolution, — 

Croly. 

{An  example  of  elevated  and  impressive  narrative,  combining  depth  smd  force  of  ex- 
pressive tone.] 

It  is  among  the  most  memorable  facts  of  intellectual  de- 
cline, that  of  the  forty  thousand  clergy  of  France,  not  one  man 
of  conspicuous  ability  was  roused  by  the  imminent  danger  of 
his  church.  Like  a  Jflock  of  sheep,  they  relied  on  their  num- 
bers ;  and  the  infidel  drove  them  before  him,  like  a  flock  of 
sheep.  While  the  battlements  of  their  gigantic  church  were 
rocking  in  every  blast,  there  was  no  sign  of  manly  precaution, 
31* 


366  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

none  of  generous  self-exposure  for  the  common  cause,  and 
scarcely  any  even  of  that  wise  suspicion  which  is  the  strength 
of  the  weak.  They  took  it  for  granted  that  the  church  would 
last  their  time,  and  were  comforted.  The  pride  of  the  day 
was  distinction  in  literature ;  but  the  whole  ecclesiastical  body 
of  France  saw  the  race  run,  without  an  effort  for  the  prize. 
They  sat  wrapped  in  their  old  recollections,  on  the  benches 
of  the  amphitheatre,  and  looked  on,  without  alarm,  while  a 
new  generation  of  mankind  were  trying  their  athletic  limbs, 
and  stimulating  their  young  ambition,  in  the  arena  where  they 
had  once  been  unrivalled.  Raynal,  and  the  few  clerics  who 
distinguished  themselves  by  authorship,  were  avowed  deists 
or  atheists  ;  and  ostentatious  of  their  complete,  if  not  contemp- 
tuous sepai-ation  from  the  establishment. 

The  last  light  of  ecclesiastical  literature  had  glimmered 
from  the  cells  of  Port  Royal ;  but,  with  the  fall  of  the  Jan- 
senists,  "  middle  and  utter  darkness"  came.  During  half  a 
century,  no  work  of  public  utility,  none  of  popular  estimation, 
none  of  genius,  none  which  evinced  loftiness  of  spirit,  vigour 
of  understanding,  or  depth  of  knowledge,  had  been  produced 
by  a  churchman. 

The  consequence  was  inevitable  and  fatal.  The  old  awe 
of  the  church's  power  was  changed  into  contempt  for  its  un- 
derstanding. Ten  thousand  rents  were  made  in  the  fabric : 
still  they  let  in  no  light  upon  the  voluntary  slumberers  within. 
The  revolutionary  roar  echoed  through  all  its  chambers ;  but 
it  stirred  no  champion  of  the  altar.  The  high  ecclesiastics 
relied  upon  their  connection  with  the  court,  their  rank,  and 
the  formal  homage  of  their  officials ; — shields  of  gossamer 
against  the  pike  and  firebrand  of  the  people.  The  inferior 
priesthood,  consigned  to  obscurity,  shrank  into  their  villages 
into  cumberers  of  the  earth,  or  were  irritated  into  rebels.  The 
feeble  contracted  themselves  within  the  drowsy  round  of  their 
prescribed  duties ;  the  daring  brooded  over  the  national  dis- 
contents and  their  own,  until  they  heard  the  trumpet  sounding 
to  every  angry  heart  and  form  of  ill  in  France ;  and  came  forth, 
a  gloomy  and  desperate  tribe,  trampling  their  images  and  al- 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  367 

tars  under  foot,  and  waving  the  torch  in  the  front  of  the  grand 
insurrection. 

Night. — J.  Montgomery. 

[The  following  piece  is  peculiarly  expressive  in  its  style  of  elocution  as  well  as  of 
sentiment  and  language.  It  exemplifies,  successively,  the  tones  of  tranquillity^ 
wonder,  joy,  pathos,  regret,  horror,  sublimity,  and  devout  emotion.] 

Night  is  the  time  for  rest ;  — 

How  sweet,  when  labours  close, 
To  gather  round  an  aching  breast 

The  curtain  of  repose, 
Stretch  the  tired  limbs,  and  lay  the  head 

Upon  our  own  accust<)med  bed. 

Night  is  the  time  for  dreams  ;  — 

The  gay  romance  of  life, 
When  tnith  that  is,  and  truth  that  seems, 

Blend  in  fantastic  strife :  — 
Ah !  visions  less  beguiling  far 

Than  waking  dreams  by  daylight  are ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  toil ; 

To  plough  the  classic  field, 
Intent  to  find  the  buried  spoil 

Its  wealthy  furrows  yield ; 
Till  all  is  ours  that  sages  taught, 

That  poets  sang,  or  heroes  wrought. 

Night  is  the  time  to  weep ; 

To  wet  Avith  unseen  tears 
Those  graves  of  memory,  where  sleep 

The  joys  of  other  years, 
Hopes  that  were  angels  in  their  birth, 

But  perished  young  —  like  things  of  earth. 

Night  is  the  time  to  watch ; 

On  ocean's  dark  expanse, 
To  hail  the  Pleiades,  or  catch 

The  full  moon's  earliest  glance. 
That  brings  unto  the  home-sick  mind 

All  we  have  loved  —  and  left  behind. 

Night  is  the  time  for  care ; 

Brooding  on  hours  mis-spent, 
To  see  the  spectre  of  despair 

Come  to  our  lonely  tent ; 


,-,  «**' 


'^tei' 


368  PtJLPIT  ELOCtJTIOJ?. 

Like  Brutus  'mid  his  slumbering  host, 
Startled  by  Casar's  stalwart  ghost. 

Night  is  the  time  to  muse ; 

Then  from  the  eye  the  soul 
Takes  flight,  and  with  expanding  views, 

Beyond  the  starry  pole 
Descries,  athwart  the  abyss  of  night, 
The  dawn  of  uncreated  light. 

Night  is  the  time  to  pray ; 

Our  Saviour  oft  withdrew 
To  desert  mountains  far  away : 

So  will  his  followers  do,  — 
Steal  from  the  throng  to  haunts  untrod, 
And  hold  communion  there  with  God. 

Night  is  the  time  for  death ; 

When  all  around  is  peace, 
Calmly  to  yield  the  weary  breath, 

From  sin  and  suffering  cease, 
Think  of  heaven's  bliss,  and  give  the  sign 
To  parting  friends — such  death  be  mine ! 


The  Land  of  Beulah. — G.  B.  Cheever. 

[The  prevalent '  Expression'  of  the  following  passage,  is  that  of  admira- 
tion rising  to  rapture ; — the  tone  of  joy,  however,  softened  by  that  of 
sacred  and  solemn  feeling.] 

No  Other  language  than  that  of  Bunyan  himself,  perused 
in  the  pages  of  his  own  sweet  book,  could  be  successful  in 
portraying  the  beauty  and  glory  of  such  a  scene ;  for  now  he 
seems  to  feel  that  all  the  dangers  of  the  pilgrimage  are  almost 
over ;  and  he  gives  himself  up  without  restraint  so  entirely 
to  the  sea  of  bliss  that  surrounds  him,  and  to  the  gales  of 
heaven  that  are  wafting  him  on,  and  to  the  sounds  of  melody 
that  float  in  the  whole  air  around  him,  that  nothing  in  the 
English  language  can  be  compared  with  this  whole  closing 
part  of  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  for  its  entrancing  splendour, 
yet  serene  and  simple  loveliness.  The  colouring  is  that  of 
heaven  in  the  soul ;  and  Bunyan  has  poured  his  own  heaven- 
entranced  soul  into  it.     With  all  its  depth  and  power,  there 


BIISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES. 


9S9 


is  nothing  exaggerated ;  and  it  is  made  up  of  the  simplest 
and  most  scriptural  materials  and  images.  We  seem  to  stand 
in  a  flood  of  light  poured  on  us  from  the  open  gates  of  Para- 
dise. It  falls  on  every  leaf  and  shrub  by  the  way-side  ;  it  is 
reflected  from  the  crystal  streams,  that  between  grassy  banks 
wind  amidst  groves  of  fruit-trees  into  vineyards  and  flower- 
gardens.  These  fields  of  Beulah  are  just  below  the  gate  of 
heaven ;  and  with  the  light  of  heaven  there  come  floating 
down  the  melodies  of  heaven  :  so  that  here  there  is  almost  an 
open  revelation  of  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared 
for  them  that  love  him. 

During  the  last  days  of  that  eminent  man  of  God,  Dr. 
Payson,  he  once  said,  <  When  I  formerly  read  Bunyan's  de- 
scription of  the  land  of  Beulah,  where  the  sun  shines  and  the 
birds  sing  day  and  night,  I  used  to  doubt  whether  there  was 
such  a  place  ;  but  now  my  own  experience  has  convinced  me 
of  it,  and  it  infinitely  transcends  all  my  previous  conceptions.* 
The  best  possible  commentary  on  the  glowing  description  in 
Bunyan  is  to  be  found  in  that  very  remarkable  letter  dictated 
by  Dr.  Payson  to  his  sister,  a  few  weeks  before  his  death. 
*  Were  I  to  adopt  the  figurative  language  of  Bunyan,  I  might 
date  this  letter  from  the  land  of  Beulah,  of  which  I  have  been 
for  weeks  a  happy  inhabitant.  The  Celestial  City  is  full  in 
my  view.  Its  glories  beam  upon  me  ;  its  breezes  fan  me ; 
its  odours  are  wafted  to  me  i  its  sounds  strike  upon  my  ears ; 
and  its  spirit  is  breathed  into  my  heart.  Nothing  separates 
me  from  it  but  the  River  of  Death,  which  now  appears  but  as 
an  insignificant  rill,  that  may  be  crossed  at  a  single  step, 
whenever  God  shall  give  permission.  The  Sun  of  Righte- 
ousness has  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  appearing  larger 
and  brighter  as  he  approached  ;  and  now  he  fills  the  whole 
hemisphere  ;  pouring  forth  a  flood  of  glory,  in  which  I  seem 
to  float  like  an  insect  in  the  beams  of  the  sun  ;  exulting,  yet 
almost  trembling,  while  I  gaze  on  this  excessive  brightness, 
and  wondering,  with  unutterable  wonder,  why  God  should 
deign  thus  to  shine  upon  a  sinful  worm.' 

There  is  perhaps,  in  all  our  language,  no  record  of  a 


370  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Christian's  happiness  before  death  so  striking  as  this.  What 
is  it  not  worth,  to  enjoy  such  consolations  as  these,  in  our 
pilgrimage,  and  especially  to  experience  such  foretastes  of 
heaven,  as  we  draw  near  to  the  River  of  Death,  such  revela- 
tions of  God  in  Christ  as  can  swallow  up  the  fears  and  pains 
of  dying,  and  make  the  soul  exult  in  the  vision  of  a  Saviour's 
loveliness,  the  assurance  of  a  Saviour's  mercy  ?  There  is 
no  self-denial,  no  toil,  no  suffering  in  this  life  which  is  worthy 
to  be  compared  for  a  moment  with  such  blessedness. 

It  is  very  remarkable  that  Bunyan  has,  as  it  were,  at- 
tempted to  lifl  the  veil  from  the  grave,  from  eternity,  in  the 
beatific  closing  part  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  to  de- 
pict what  passes,  or  may  be  supposed  to  pass,  with  the  souls 
of  the  righteous  immediately  after  death.  There  is  a  very 
familiar  verse  of  Watts,  founded  on  the  unsuccessful  effort  of 
the  mind  to  conceive  definitely  the  manner  of  that  existence 
into  which  the  immortal  spirit  is  to  be  ushered. 

'  In  vain  the  fancy  strives  to  paint 
The  moment  after  death ; 
The  glories  that  suiTOund  the  saint 
In  yielding  up  his  breath.' 

The  old  poet,  Henry  Vaughan,  in  his  fragment  on  <  Heav- 
en in  Prospect,*  refers  to  the  same  uncertainty,  in  stanzas 
that,  though  somewhat  quaint,  are  very  striking. 

'  Dear,  beauteous  Death,  the  jewel  of  the  just, 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark, 
Wliat  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

'  He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest,  may  know 
At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown ; 
But  what  fair  field  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

'  And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes, 
And  into  glory  peep.' 


miscbllaneotts  exehcises.  ^1 


Life's  Companions. — Charles  Maclcay. 

[The  '  Expression,'  in  the  first  three  stanzas  of  this  piece,  is  marked  by 
the  tones  of  animation^  cheei'fidness,  composure,  joy^  and  courage ;  it  chan- 
ges in  the  next  three,  to  regret, — in  the  seventh  to  earnest  but  tender 
entreaty, — in  the  eighth,  to  sublime  aspiration  and  triumph.] 

When  I  set  sail  on  Life's  young  voyage, 

'Twas  upon  a  stormy  sea ; 
But  to  cheer  me  night  and  day, 
Through  the  perils  of  the  way, 

With  me  went  companions  three ; 
Three  companions,  kind  and  faithful. 

Dearer  far  than  Mend  or  bride, 
Heedless  of  the  storaiy  weather. 
Hand  in  hand  they  came  together, 

Ever  smiling  at  my  side. 

One  was  Health,  my  lusty  comrade, 

Cheny-cheeked  and  stout  of  limb ; 
Though  my  board  was  scant  of  cheer, 
And  my  drink  but  water  clear, 

I  was  thankful,  blessed  with  him. 
One  was  mild-eyed  Peace  of  Spirit, 

Who,  though  storms  the  welkin  swept, 
Waking,  gave  me  calm  reliance. 
And  though  tempests  howled  defiance, 

Smoothed  my  pillow  while  I  slept. 

One  was  Hope,  my  dearest  comrade, 

Never  absent  from  my  breast, 
Brightest  in  the  darkest  days, 
Kindest  in  the  roughest  ways, 

Dearer  far  than  all  the  rest. 
And  though  Wealth,  nor  Fame,  nor  Station, 

Journeyed  with  me  o'er  the  sea ; 
Stout  of  heart,  all  danger  scorning. 
Nought  cared  I,  in  life's  young  morning, 

Eor  their  lordly  company. 

But,  alas  !   ere  night  has  darkened, 

I  have  lost  companions  twain ; 
And  the  third  with  tearful  eyes. 
Worn  and  wasted,  often  flies. 

But  as  oft  returns  again. 


372  PTJLPIT  ELOCtJTION. 

And,  instead  of  those  departed, 

Spectres  twin  around  me  flit ; 
Pointing  each  with  shadowy  finger, 
Nightly  at  my  couch  they  linger ; 
Daily  at  my  board  they  sit. 

Oh  !    alas  !   that  I  have  followed 

In  the  hot  pursuit  of  Wealth ; 
Though  I've  gained  the  prize  of  gold,  — 
Eyes  are  dim,  and  blood  is  cold,  — 

I  have  lost  my  comrade,  Health. 
Care,  instead,  the  withered  beldam, 

Steals  the  enjoyment  from  my  cup, 
Hugs  me,  that  I  cannot  quit  her ; 
Makes  my  choicest  morsels  bitter ; 

Seals  the  founts  of  pleasure  up. 

Ah !   alas  !   that  Fame  allured  me,  — 

She  so  false,  and  I  so  blind,  — 
Sweet  her  smiles  ;  but  in  the  chase 
I  have  lost  the  happy  face 

Of  my  comrade.  Peace  of  Mind  ; 
And  instead,  Remorse,  pale  phantom, 

Tracks  my  feet,  where'er  I  go ; 
All  the  day  I  see  her  scowling. 
In  my  sleep  I  hear  her  howling, 

Wildly  flirting  to  and  fro. 

Last  of  aU  my  dear  companions, 

Hope  !   sweet  Hope  !   befriend  me  yet ! 
Do  not  from  my  side  depai-t, 
Do  not  leave  my  lonely  heart 

All  to  darkness  and  regret ! 
Short  and  sad  is  now  my  voyage 

O'er  this  gloom-encompassed  sea, 
But  not  cheerless  altogether,  — 
Whatsoe'er  the  wind  and  weather,  — 

Will  it  seem,  if  blessed  with  thee. 

Dim  thine  eyes  are,  turning  earthwards, 
Shadowy  pale,  and  thin  thy  form  ;  — 

Turned  to  heaven  tliine  eyes  grow  bright. 

All  thy  form  expands  in  light, 
Soft  and  beautiful  and  warm. 

Look  then  upAvards  !    lead  me  heavenwards  ! 
Guide  me  o'er  this  darkening  sea ! 


873 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES. 

Pale  remorse  shall  fade  before  me, 
And  the  gloom  shall  brighten  o'er  me, 
If  I  have  a  friend  in  Thee. 


Henry  Marttn. — Macauhy. 

[An  exercise  in  the  reading  of  biographical  narrative,  imbodying  all  the  highest, 
qualities  of  sentiment  and  language,  and  a  corresponding  intensity  of  ^  Expression*' 
and  vividness  of  '  Variation.']* 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  John  Marty n  of 
Truro  was  working  with  his  hands  in  the  mines  near  that  town- 
He  was  a  wise  man,  who,  knowing  the  right  use  of  leisure- 
hours,  employed  them  so  as  to  qualify  himself  for  higher  and: 
more  lucrative  pursuits ;  and  who,  knowing  the  right  use  of 
money,  devoted  his  enlarged  means  to  procure  for  his  four 
children  a  liberal  education.  Henry,  the  younger  of  his  sons,, 
was  accordingly  entered  at  the  university  of  Cambridge^, 
where,  in  January,  1801,  he  obtained  the  degree  of  bachelor 
of  arts,  with  the  honorary  rank  of  senior  wrangler.  There 
also  he  became  the  disciple,  and  as  he  himself  would  have  said*, 
the  convert  of  Charles  Simeon.  Under  the  counsels  of  that 
eminent  teacher,  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  and  the  ac- 
tive aid  of  Mr.  Grant,  he  entered  the  East  India  Company's 
service,  as  a  chaplain.  After  a  residence  in  Hindostan  of 
about  five  years,  he  returned  homewards  through  Persia,  in- 
broken  health.  Pausing  at  Shiraz,  he  laboured  there,  during 
twelve  months,  with  the  ardour  of  a  man,  who,  distinctly  per- 
ceiving the  near  approach  of  death,  feared  lest  it  should  inter- 
cept the  great  work  for  which  alone  he  desired  to  live.  That 
work,  (the  translation  of  the  New  Testament  into  Persian,)i 
at  length  accomplished,  he  resumed  his  way  towards  Constan- 
tinople, followed  his  Mimander,  (one  Hassan  Aga,)  at  a  gallop,, 
nearly  the  whole  distance  from  Tabriz  to  Tocat,  under  the 
rays  of  a  burning  sun,  and  the  pressure  of  continual  fever. 

On  the  6th  of  October,  1812,  in  the  thirty-second  year  of 
his  age,  he  brought  the  journal  of  his  life  to  a  premature  closey 

*  Passages  such  as  the  above,  serve  to  exemplify  the  style  of  elocution 
in  obituary  discourses. 

32 


874  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

by  inscribing  in  it  the  following  words,  while  he  sought  a 
momentary  repose  under  the  shadow  of  some  trees  at  the  foot 
of  the  Caramanian  mountains :  *  I  sat  in  the  orchard,  and 
thought,  with  sweet  comfort  and  fear,  of  God, — in  solitude,  my 
company,  my  friend,  and  comforter.  Oh !  when  shall  time 
give  place  to  eternity  !  When  shall  appear  that  new  heaven 
and  new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth  righteousness  and  love ! 
There  shall  in  nowise  enter  anything  that  defileth ;  none  of 
that  wickedness  which  has  made  men  worse  than  wild  beasts ; 
none  of  those  corruptions  which  add  still  more  to  the  miseries 
of  mortality,  shall  be  seen  or  heard  of  any  more.'  Ten  days 
afterwards,  these  aspirations  were  fulfilled.  His  body  was 
laid  in  the  grave  by  the  hands  of  strangers  at  Tocat ;  and  to 
his  disimbodied  spirit  was  revealed  that  awful  vision,  which 
it  is  given  to  the  pure  in  heart,  and  to  them  alone,  to  contem- 
plate. 

Amidst  all  the  discords  which  agitate  the  church  of  Eng- 
land, her  sons  are  unanimous  in  extolling  the  name  of  Henry 
Martyn.  And  with  reason  ;  for  it  is,  in  fact,  the  one  heroic 
name  which  adorns  her  annals,  from  the  days  of  Elizabeth  to 
our  own.  Her  apostolic  men, — the  Wesleys,  and  Eliots,  and 
Brainerds,  of  other  times, — either  quitted,  or  were  cast  out 
of  her  communion.  Her  Acta  Sanctorum  may  be  read,  from 
end  to  end,  with  a  dry  eye  and  an  unquickened  pulse.  Henry 
Martyn,  the  learned  and  the  holy,  translating  the  Scriptures 
in  his  solitary  '  bungalow'  at  Dinapore,  or  preaching  to  a  con- 
gregation of  five  hundred  beggars,  or  refuting  the  Moham- 
medan doctors  at  Shiraz,  is  the  bright  exception.  It  is  not 
the  less  bright,  because  he  was  brought  within  the  sphere  of 
those  secular  influences  which  so  often  draw  down  our  Angli- 
can worthies  from  the  empyrean  along  which  they  would  soar, 
to  the  levels,  flat  though  fertile,  on  which  they  must  depas- 
ture. 

There  is  no  concealing  the  fact,  that  he  annually  received 
from  the  East  India  Company  an  ugly  allowance  of  twelve 
hundred  pounds ;  and  though  he  would  be  neither  just  nor 
prudent,  who  should  ascribe  to  the  attractive  force  of  that 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES. 


375 


Stipend  one  hour  of  Henry  Martyn's  residence  in  the  east ; 
yet  the  ideal  would  be  better  without  it.  Oppressively  con- 
clusive as  may  be  the  arguments  in  favour  of  a  well-endowed 
and  punctually-paid  *  Establishment,'  they  have,  after  all,  an 
unpleasant  earthly  savour.  One  would  not  like  to  discover 
that  Polycarp,  or  Bernard,  or  Boniface  Vv^as  waited  on,  every 
quarter-day,  by  a  plump  bag  of  coin  from  the  public  treasu- 
ry. To  receive  a  thousand  rupees  monthly  from  that  source, 
was  perhaps  the  duty,  it  certainly  was  not  the  fault,  of  Henry 
Martyn.  Yet  it  was  a  misfortune,  and  had  been  better 
avoided, — if  possible. 

When  Mackenzie  was  sketching  his  Man  of  Feeling,  he 
could  have  desired  no  better  model  than  Henry  Martyn,  the 
young  and  successful  competitor  for  academical  honours  ;  a 
man  born  to  love  with  ardour  and  to  hate  with  vehemence ; 
amorous,  irascible,  ambitious,  and  vain ;  without  one  torpid 
nerve  about  him ;  aiming  at  universal  excellence  in  science, 
in  literature,  in  conversation,  in  horsemanship, — and  even  in 
dress ;  not  without  some  gay  fancies,  but  more  prone  to  aus- 
tere and  melancholy  thoughts  ;  patient  of  the  most  toilsome 
inquiries,  though  not  wooing  philosophy  for  her  own  sake  ; 
animated  by  the  poetical  temperament,  though  unvisited  by 
any  poetical  inspiration ;  eager  for  enterprise,  though  thinking 
meanly  of  the  rewards  to  which  the  adventurous  aspire  ;  unit- 
ing in  himself,  though  as  yet  unable  to  concentrate  or  to  har- 
monize them,  many  keen  desires,  many  high  powers,  and 
much  constitutional  dejection, —  the  chaotic  materials  of  a 
great  character,  destined  to  combine,  as  the  future  events  of 
life  should  determine,  into  no  common  forms,  whether  of  beau- 
ty and  delight,  or  of  deformity  and  terror. 

Among  those  events,  the  most  momentous  was  his  connec- 
tion with  Charles  Simeon,  and  with  such  of  his  disciples  as 
sought  learning  at  Cambridge,  and  learned  leisure  at  Clapham. 
A  mind  so  beset  by  sympathies  of  every  other  kind,  could  not 
but  be  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  contagion  of  opinion. 
From  that  circle  he  adopted,  in  all  its  unadorned  simplicity, 
the  system  called  Evangelical — that  system  of  which,  (if  Au- 


876  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

gustin,  Luther,  Calvin,  Knox,  and  the  writers  of  the  English 
Homilies,  may  be  credited,)  Christ  himself  was  the  author, 
and  Paul,  the  first  and  greatest  interpreter. 

Through  shallow  heads  and  voluble  tongues,  such  a  creed, 
(or  indeed  any  creed,)  filtrates  so  easily,  that,  of  the  multitude 
who  maintain  it,  comparatively  few  are  aware  of  the  conflict 
of  their  faith  with  the  natural  and  unaided  reason  of  mankind. 
Indeed,  he  who  makes  such  an  avowal,  will  hardly  escape  the 
charge  of  affectation  or  of  impiety.  Yet,  if  any  truth  be 
clearly  revealed,  it  is,  that  the  apostolic  doctrine  was  foolish- 
ness to  the  sages  of  this  world.  If  any  unrevealed  truth  be 
indisputable,  it  is,  that  such  sages  are  at  this  day  making,  as 
they  have  ever  made,  ill-disguised  efforts  to  escape  the  infer- 
ences with  which  their  own  admissions  teem.  Divine  philoso- 
phy, divorced  from  human  science, — celestial  things  stripped 
of  the  mitigating  veils  woven  by  man's  wit  and  fancy  to  re- 
lieve them, — form  an  abyss  as  impassable  at  Oxford,  now,  as 
at  Athens,  eighteen  centuries  ago.  To  Henry  Martyn  the 
gulf  was  visible,  the  self-renunciation  painful,  the  victory 
complete.  His  understanding  embraced,  and  his  heart  re- 
posed in,  the  two  comprehensive  and  ever-germinating  tenets 
of  the  school  in  which  he  studied.  Regarding  his  own  heart 
as  corrupt,  and  his  own  reason  as  delusive,  he  exercised  an 
unHmited  affiance  in  the  holiness  and  the  wisdom  of  Him,  in 
whose  person  the  divine  nature  had  been  allied  to  the  human, 
— that,  in  the  persons  of  his  followers,  the  human  might  be  al- 
lied to  the  divine. 

Such  was  his  religious  theory — a  theory  which  doctors  may 
combat,  or  admit,  or  qualify,  but  in  which  the  readers  of  Hen- 
ry Marty n's  biography,  letters,  and  journals,  cannot  but  ac- 
knowledge that  he  found  the  resting-place  of  all  the  impetu- 
ous appetencies  of  his  mind,  the  spring  of  all  his  strange 
powers  of  activity  and  endurance.  Prostrating  his  soul  be- 
fore the  real,  though  the  hidden  Presence  he  adored,  his 
doubts  were  silenced,  his  anxieties  soothed,  and  every  meaner 
passion  hushed  into  repose.  He  pursued  divine  truth,  (as  all 
who  would  succeed  ia  that  pursuit  must  pursue  it,)  by  the 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES. 


^7t 


will  rather  than  the  understanding ;  by  sincerely  and  earnestly 
searching  out  the  light  which  had  come  into  the  world,  by  still 
going  after  it,  when  perceived, — by  following  its  slightest  inti- 
mations with  faith,  with  resignation,  and  with  constancy, 
though  the  path  it  disclosed  led  him  from  the  frieiids  and  the 
home  of  his  youth,  across  wide  oceans  and  burning  deserts, 
amidst  contumely  and  contention,  with  a  wasted  frame  and 
an  overburthened  spirit.     He  rose  to  the  sublime  in  character, 
neither  by  the  powers  of  his  intellect,  nor  by  the  compass  of 
his  learning,  nor  by  the  subtlety,  the  range,  or  the  beauty  of 
his  conceptions,  (for  in  all  these  he  was  surpassed  by  many,) 
but  by  the  copiousness  and  the  force  of  the  living  fountains 
by  which  his  spiritual  life  was  nourished.     Estranged  from  a 
world  once  too  fondly  loved,  his  well-tutored  heart  learned 
to  look  back  with  a  calm  though  affectionate  melancholy  on  its 
most  bitter  privations.     Insatiable  in  the  thirst  for  freedom, 
holiness,  and  peace,  he  maintained  an  ardour  of  devotion 
which  might  pass  for  an  erotic  delirium,  when  contrasted  with 
the  Sadducean  frigidity  of  other  worshippers.     Regarding  all 
the  members  of  the  great  human  family  as  his  kindred  in  sor- 
row and  in  exile,  his  zeal  for  their  welfare  partook  more  of 
the  fervour  of  domestic  affection,  than  of  the  kind  but  gentle 
warmth  of  a  diffusive  philanthropy.     Elevated  in  his  own 
esteeni  by  the  consciousness  of  an  intimate  union  with  the 
Eternal  Source  of  all  virtue,  the  meek  missionary  of  the  cross 
exhibited  no  obscure  resemblance  to  the  unobtrusive  dignity, 
the  unfaltering  purpose,  and  the  indestructible  composure  of 
Him  by  whom  the  cross  was  borne.     The  ill-disciplined  de- 
sires of  youth,  now  confined  within  one  deep  channel,  flowed 
quickly  onwards  to  one  great  consummation ;  nor  was  there 
any  faculty  of  his  soul,  or  any  treasure  of  his  accumulated 
knowledge,  for  which  appropriate  exercise  was  not  found  on 
the  high  enterprise  to  which  he  was  devoted. 

And  yet  nature,  the  great  leveller,  still  asserting  her  rights, 

even  against  those  whose  triumph  over  her  might  seem  the 

most  perfect,  would  not  seldom  extort  a  burst  of  passionate 

grief  from  the  bosom  of  the  holy  Henry  Martyn,  when  mem- 

32* 


378 


PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 


ory  recalled  the  image  of  her  to  whom,  in  earlier  days,  the 
homage  of  his  heart  had  been  rendered.  The  writer  of  his 
life,  embarrassed  with  the  task  of  reconciling  such  an  episode 
to  the  gravity  befitting  a  hero  so  majestic,  and  a  biography  so 
solemn,  has  concealed  this  passage  of  his  story  beneath  a  veil, 
at  once  transparent  enough  to  excite,  and  impervious  enough 
to  baffle  curiosity.  A  form  may  be  dimly  distinguished  of  such 
witchery  as  to  have  subdued,  at  the  first  interview,  if  not  at  the 
first  casual  glance,  a  spirit  soaring  above  all  the  other  attrac- 
tions of  this  sublunary  sphere.  We  can  faintly  trace  the  path- 
way, not  always  solitary,  of  the  pious  damsel,  as  she  crossed 
the  bare  heaths  of  Cornwall,  on  some  errand  of  mercy,  and 
listened,  not  unmoved,  to  a  tremulous  voice,  pointing  to  those 
heights  of  devotion  from  which  the  speaker  had  descended  to 
this  lower  worship.  Then  the  shifting  scene  presents  the 
figure — alas  !  so  common — of  a  mother,  prudent  and  inexo- 
rable, as  if  she  had  been  involved  in  no  romance  of  her  own, 
5ome  brief  twenty  years  before ;  and  then  appears  the  form, 
(deliciously  out  of  place,)  of  the  apostolic  Charles  Simeon,  as- 
suming, but  assuming  in  vain,  the  tender  intervenient  office. 
In  sickness  and  in  sorrow,  in  watchings  and  in  fastings,  in 
toils  and  perils,  and  amidst  the  decay  of  all  other  earthly  hopes, 
this  human  love  blends  so  touchingly  with  his  diviner  enthu- 
-siasm,  that,  even  from  the  life  of  Henry  Martyn,  there  can 
scarcely  be  drawn  a  more  valuable  truth,  than  that,  in  minds 
pure  as  his,  there  may  dwell  together,  in  most  harmonious 
-concord,  affections  which  a  coarse,  low-toned,  ascetic  morality, 
would  describe  as  distracting  the  heart  between  earth  and 
heaven. 

Yet  it  is  a  life  pregnant  with  many  other  weighty  truths. 
It  was  passed  in  an  age  when  men  whom  genius  itself  could 
scarcely  rescue  from  abhorrence,  found  in  their  constitutional 
sadness,  real  or  fictitious,  not  merely  an  excuse  for  grovelling 
in  the  sty  of  Epicurus,' but  even  an  apology  for  deifying  their 
sensuality,  pride,  malignity,  and  worldly-mindedness,  by 
hymns  due  only  to  those  sacred  influences,  by  which  our  bet- 
ter nature  is  sustained,  in  its  warfare  with  its  antagonist  cor- 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  87$ 

ruptions.  Not  such  the  gloom  which  brooded  over  the  heart 
of  Henry  Martyn.  It  solicited  no  sympathy,  was  never  be- 
trayed into  sullenness,  and  sought  no  unhallowed  consolation. 
It  assumed  the  form  of  a  depressing  consciousness  of  ill  de- 
sert ;  mixed  with  fervent  compassion  for  a  world  which  he  at 
once  longed  to  quit,  and  panted  to  improve.  It  was  the  sad- 
ness of  an  exile  gazing  wistfully  towards  his  distant  home, 
even  while  soothing  the  grief  of  his  brethren  in  captivity.  It 
was  a  sadness  akin  to  that  which  stole  over  the  heart  of  his 
Master,  while,  pausing  on  the  slope  of  the  hills  which  stand 
round  about  Jerusalem,  he  wept  over  her  crowded  marts  and 
cloud-capped  pinnacles,  hastening  to  a  desolation  already  visi- 
ble to  that  prescient  eye  ;  though  hidden  by  the  glare  and 
tumult  of  life  from  the  obdurate  multitude  below.  It  was  a 
sadness  soon  to  give  place  to  an  abiding  serenity  in  the  pre- 
sence of  that  compassionate  Being  who  had  condescended  to 
shed  many  bitter  tears,  that  he  might  wipe  away  every  tear 
from  the  eyes  of  his  faithful  followers. 

'  Ora  Atque  Laboka  !' — Albert  Pike. 
[An  example  of  the  union  of  descriptive  and  didactic  poetry.] 

Swiftly  flashing,  hoarsely  dashing, 
Onward  rolls  the  mighty  river : 

Down  it  hurries  to  the  sea, 

Bounding  on  exultingly ; 
And  still  the  lesson  teaches  ever  — 
Ora  atque  lahora  ! 

Trembling  fountains  on  blue  mountains 
Murmuring  and  overflowing, 

Through  green  valleys  deep  in  hills, 

Send  down  silver  brooks  and  rills, 
Singing,  while  in  sunlight  glovnng, 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

Onward  flowing,  ever  growing, 
In  its  beauty  each  rejoices  ; 

While  in  Night's  delighted  ear. 

Through  the  amber  atmosphere. 
Sounds  the  murmur  of  their  voices  — 
Ora  atque  lahora  ! 


8S6  PTJLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Archly  glancing,  lightly  dancing, 
Eddies  chasing  one  the  other, 

Round  old  roots  the  current  whirls, 

Over  ringing  pebbles  curls ; 
Each  rill  singing  to  its  brother, 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

Hoarsely  roaring,  swiftly  pouring, 
Through  tall  mo:  ntains  cloven  asunder, 

Over  precipices  steep, 

Plunging  to  abysses  deep, 
The  cataract's  fierce  voices  thunder  — 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

Sunlight  shifting,  white  mist  drifting. 

On  its  forehead,  whence  it  marches, 
Swelled  Avith  freshets  and  great  rains, 
Shouting,  where,  through  fertile  plains, 

'T  is  spanned  by  aqueducts  and  arches  — 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

Thus  -Endeavour  striveth  ever. 
For  the  thankless  world's  improvement ; 

Each  true  thought  and  noble  word 

By  the  dull  earth  though  unheard, 
Making  part  of  one  great  movement : 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

Work  then  bravely,  sternly,  gravely ! 
Life  for  this  alone  is  given  ; 

Wliat  is  right,  that  boldly  do  ; 

Erankly  speak  out  what  is  true, 
Leaving  the  result  to  Heaven : 
Ora  atque  labora  ! 

The  Field  op  Battle. — Hall. 

[An  example  of  the  vivid  '  Expression'  which  characterizes  high- wrought 
graphic  and  dramatic  description.] 

Science  and  revelation  concur  in  teaching  that  this  ball  of 
earth,  which  man  inhabits,  is  not  the  only  world  ;  that  mil- 
lions of  globes  like  ours  roll  in  the  immensity  of  space.  The 
sun,  the  moon,  *  those  seven  nightly  wandering  fires,'  those 
twinkling  stars,  are  worlds.  There,  doubtless,  dwell  other 
moral  and  intellectual  natures  ;  passing  what  man  calls  time, 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  3Si 

in  one  untired  pursuit  of  truth  and  duty ;  still  seeking,  still 
exploring,  ever  satisfying,  never  satiating,  the  ethereal,  moral, 
intellectual  thirst ;  whose  delightful  task  it  is,  as  it  should  be 
ours,  to  learn  the  will  of  the  Eternal  Father, — to  seek  the 
good,  which  to  that  end,  for  them  and  us  to  seek,  hides  ;  and 
finding,  to  admire,  adore,  and  praise,  '  him  first,  him  last,  him 
midst  and  without  end.' 

Imagine  one  of  these  celestial  spirits,  bent  on  this  great 
purpose,  descending  upon  our  globe,  and  led  by  chance,  to  a 
European  plain,  at  the  point  of  some  great  battle  ;  on  which, 
to  human  eye,  reckless  and  blind  to  over-ruling  Heaven,  the 
fate  of  States  and  empires  is  suspended. 

On  a  sudden,  the  field  of  combat  opens  on  his  astonished 
vision.  It  is  a  field,  which  men  call  *  glorious.'  A  hundred 
thousand  warriors  stand  in  opposed  ranks.  Light  gleams  on 
their  burnished  steel.  Their  plumes  and  banners,  wave. 
Hill  echoes  to  hill  the  noise  of  moving  rank  and  squadron, — 
the  neigh  and  tramp  of  steeds — the  trumpet,  drum,  and  bugle 
call.  There  is  a  momentary  pause, — a  silence  like  that  which 
precedes  the  fall  of  a  thunder-bolt, — ^like  that  awful  stillness, 
which  is  precursor  to  the  desolating  rage  of  the  whirlwind. 
In  an  instant,  flash  succeeding  flash,  pours  columns  of  smoke 
along  the  plain.  The  iron  tempest  sweeps,  heaping  man, 
horse,  and  car,  in  undistinguished  ruin.  In  shouts  of  rushing 
hosts, — in  shock  of  breasting  steeds, — in  peals  of  musketry,  in 
artillery's  roar, — in  sabres'  clash, — in  thick  and  gathering 
clouds  of  smoke  and  dust,  all  human  eye,  and  ear,  and  sense, 
are  lost.  Man  sees  not,  but  the  sign  of  onset.  Man  hears 
not,  but  the  cry  of — '  onward.' 

Not  so  the  celestial  stranger.  His  spiritual  eye,  unobscu- 
red  by  artificial  night, — his  spiritual  ear,  unaffected  by  me- 
chanic noise, — witness  the  real  scene,  naked  in  all  its  cruel 
horrors. 

He  sees  lopped  and  bleeding  limbs  scattered ;  gashed,  dis- 
membered trunks,  outspread,  gore-clothed,  lifeless  ; — brains 
bursting  from  crushed  skulls, — blood  gushing   from   sabred 


382  PtJLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

necks, — severed  heads,  whose  mouths  mutter  rage  amidst  the 
palsying  of  the  last  agony. 

He  hears  the  mingled  cry  of  anguish  and  despair,  issuing 
from  a  thousand  bosoms,  in  which  a  thousand  bayonets  turn, 
— the  convulsive  scream  of  anguish  from  heaps  of  mangled, 
half-expiring  victims,  over  whom  the  heavy  artillery  wheels 
lumber,  and  crush  into  one  mass,  bone  and  muscle  and  sinew 
— while  the  fetlock  of  the  war-horse  drips  with  blood  starting 
from  the  last  palpitation  of  the  burst  heart,  on  which  the  hoof 
pivots. 

*  This  is  not  earth' — would  not  such  a  celestial  stranger 
exclaim  ? — '  this  is  not  earth' — '  this  is  hell !' — *  This  is  not 
man  I  but  demon,  tormenting  demon.' 

Thus  exclaiming,  would  he  not  speed  away  to  the  skies, — 
his  immortal  nature  unable  to  endure  the  folly,  the  crime,  and 
the  madness  of  man  ? 

'  Not  on  the  Battle  Field.' — John  Pierpont. 

[An  example  of  the  intense  '  Expression'  arising  from  vivid  delineation ^ 
accompanied  by  profound  and  affecting  sentiment.] 

Oh !  no,  no  —  let  me  lie 
Not  on  a  field  of  battle,  when  I  die  ! 

Let  not  the  iron  tread 
Of  the  mad  war-horse  crush  my  helmed  head : 

Nor  let  the  reeking  knife, 
That  I  have  drawn  against  a  brother's  life, 

Be  in  my  hand,  when  death 
Thunders  along,  and  tramples  me  beneath 

His  heavy  squadron's  heels, 
Or  gory  felloes  of  his  cannon  wheels. 

From  such  a  dying  bed. 
Though  o'er  it  float  the  stripes  of  white  and  red, 

And  the  bald  eagle  brings 
The  clustered  stars  upon  his  wide-spread  wings, 

To  sparkle  in  my  sight, 
Oh !  never  let  my  spirit  take  her  flight ! 

I  know  that  Beauty's  eye 
Is  all  the  brighter  where  gay  pennants  fly, 
And  brazen  helmets  dance, 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES. 

And  sunshine  flashes  on  the  lifted  lance ; 

I  know  that  hards  have  sung, 
And  people  shouted  till  the  welkin  rung 

In  honour  of  the  brave 
Who  on  the  battle-field  have  found  a  grave. 


Such  honours  grace  the  bed, 
I  know,  whereon  the  wan-ior  lays  his  head, 

And  hears,  as  life  ebbs  out, 
The  conquered  flying,  and  the  conqueror's  shout. 

But  as  his  eye  grows  dim, 
What  is  a  column  or  a  mound  to  him  1 

What,  to  the  parting  soul, 
The  mellow  note  of  bugles  ?    What  the  roll 

Of  drums  ?    No  :  let  me  die 
Where  the  blue  heaven  bends  o'er  me  lovingly, 

And  the  soft  summer  air. 
As  it  goes  by  me,  stirs  my  thin  white  hau", 

And  from  my  forehead  dries 
The  death-damp  as  it  gathers,  and  the  skies 

Seem  waiting  to  receive 
My  soul  to  their  clear  depths  !     Or  let  me  leave 

The  world,  when  round  my  bed 
Wife,  children,  weeping  friends,  are  gathered, 

And  the  calm  voice  of  prayer 
And  holy  hymning  shall  my  soul  prepare 

To  go  and  be  at  rest 
With  kindred  spirits,  —  spirits  who  have  blessed 

The  human  brotherhood 
By  labours,  cares,  and  counsels  for  their  good. 

And  in  my  dying  hour, 
When  riches,  fame,  and  honour,  have  no  power 

To  bear  the  spirit  up, 
Or  from  my  lips  to  turn  aside  the  cup 

That  all  must  drink  at  last, 
Oh !  let  me  draw  refreshment  from  the  past ! 

Then  let  my  soul  run  back, 
With  peace  and  joy,  along  my  earthly  track, 

And  see  that  all  the  seeds 
That  I  have  scattered  there,  in  virtuous  deeds, 

Have  sprung  up,  and  have  given, 
Already,  fruits  of  which  to  taste  in  heaven ! 


384  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

And  though  no  grassy  mound 
Or  granite  pile  say  'tis  heroic  ground 

Where  my  remains  repose, 
Still  will  I  hope  —  vain  hope,  perhaps  !  that  those 

Whom  I  have  striven  to  bless, 
The  wanderer  reclaimed,  the  fatherless, 

May  stand  around  my  grave. 
With  the  poor  prisoner,  and  the  poorest  slave, 

And  breathe  an  humble  prayer, 
That  they  may  die  like  him  whose  bones  are  mouldering  there. 


Eeligious  Principle  thk  Vital  Element  op  Poetry. — Carlyle. 

[An  example  of '  Expression '  affected  by  nchle  sentiment  and  elevated  dic- 
tion.Y*^ 

Burns  was  born  poor,  and  born  also  to  continue  poor  ;  for 
he  would  not  endeavour  to  be  otherwise :  this  it  had  been 
well  could  he  have  once  for  all  admitted,  and  considered  as 
finally  settled.  He  was  poor,  truly ;  but  hundreds,  even  of 
liis  own  class  and  order  of  mind,  have  been  poorer,  yet  have 
suffered  nothing  deadly  from  it :  nay,  his  own  father  had  a 
far  sorer  battle  with  ungrateful  destiny  than  his  was  ;  and  he 
did  not  yield  to  it,  but  died  courageously  warring,  and,  to  all 
moral  intents,  prevailing,  against  it. 

True,  Burns  had  little  means,  had  even  little  time  for  poe- 
try, his  only  real  pursuit  and  vocation  ;  but  so  much  the  more 
precious  was  what  little  he  had.  In  all  these  external  re- 
spects his  case  was  hard;  but  very  far  from  the  hardest. 
Poverty,  incessant  drudgery,  and  much  worse  evils,  it  has 
often  been  the  lot  of  poets  and  wise  men  to  strive  with,  and 
their  glory  to  conquer.  Locke  was  banished  as  a  traitor; 
and  wrote  his  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  shelter- 
ing himself  in  a  Dutch  garret.  Was  Milton  rich  or  at  his 
ease,  when  he  composed  Paradise  Lost  ?  Not  only  low,  but 
fallen;  not  only  poor,  but  impoverished;  *in  darkness  and 

*  Passages  like  the  above  form  useful  elements  for  practice  in  the  ap- 
propriate style  of  oratory  on  occasions  such  as  those  of  literary  anniver- 
saries and  similar  festivals. 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES.  385 

with  dangers  compassed  round,'  he  sang  his  immortal  son^, 
and  found  '  fit  audience,  though  few.'  Did  not  Cervantes  fin- 
ish his  work,  a  maimed  soldier,  and  in  prison  ?  Nay,  was 
not  the  Aj-aucana,  which  Spain  acknowledges  as  its  Epicy 
written  without  even  the  aid  of  paper ;  on  scraps  of  leather^ 
as  the  stout  fighter  and  voyager  snatched  any  moment  froms 
that  wild  warfare  ? 

And  what  then  had  these  men,  which  Burns  wanted  ?  Two* 
things ;  both  which,  it  seems  to  us,  are  indispensable  for  suck 
men.  They  had  a  true,  religious  principle  of  morals ;  and  a 
single  not  a  double  aim  in  their  activity.  They  were  not 
self-seekers  and  self-worshippers ;  but  seekers  and  worship- 
pers of  something  far  better  than  self.  Not  personal  enjoy- 
ment was  their  object ;  but  a  high,  heroic  idea  of  religion,  of 
patriotism,  of  heavenly  wisdom,  in  one  or  the  other  form,  ever 
hovered  before  them ;  in  which  cause,  they  neither  shrunk 
from  suffering,  nor  called  on  the  earth  to  witness  it  as  some- 
thing wonderful ;  but  patiently  endured,  counting  it  blessed- 
ness enough  so  to  spend  and  be  spent.  Thus  the  'golden- 
calf  of  self-love,'  however  curiously  carved,  was  not  their 
Deity ;  but  the  invisible  goodness,  which  alone  is  man's  rea- 
sonable service.  This  feeling  was  as  a  celestial  fountainj, 
whose  streams  refreshed  into  gladness  and  beauty  all  the  pro- 
vinces of  their  otherwise  too  desolate  existence.  In  a  word,, 
they  willed  one  thing,  to  which  all  other  things  were  subor^^ 
dinated,  and  made  subservient ;  and  therefore  they  accom- 
plished it.  The  wedge  will  rend  rocks  ;  but  its  edge  must 
be  sharp  and  single :  if  it  be  double,  the  wedge  is  bruised  in 
pieces,  and  will  rend  nothing. 

Part  of  this  superiority  these  men  owed  to  their  age ;  in 
which  heroism  and  devotedness  were  still  practised,  or,  at 
least,  not  yet  disbelieved  in :  but  much  of  it  likewise  they 
owed  to  themselves.  With  Burns,  again,  it  was  different^ 
His  morality,  in  most  of  its  practical  points,  is  that  of  a  mere 
worldly  man ;  enjoyment,  in  a  finer  or  coarser  shape,  is  the 
only  thing  he  loves  and  strives  for.  A  noble  instinct  some- 
times raises  him  above  this  ;  but  an  instinct  only,  and  acting 
33 


386  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

only  for  moments.  He  has  no  religion  :  in  the  shallow  age 
where  his  days  were  cast,  religion  was  not  discriminated  from 
the  'New  '  and  '  Old  Light'  for?ns  of  religion  ;  and  was,  with 
these,  becoming  obsolete  in  the  minds  of  men.  His  heart,  in- 
deed, is  alive  with  a  trembling  adoration  ;  but  there  is  no 
temple  in  his  understanding.  He  lives  in  darkness  and  in 
the  shadow  of  doubt.  His  religion,  at  best,  is  an  anxious 
wish ;  like  that  of  Rabelais  '  a  great  Perhaps.' 

He  loved  poetry  warmly,  and  in  his  heart ;  could  he  but 
have  loved  it  purely  and  with  his  whole  undivided  heart,  it 
had  been  well.  For  poetry,  as  Burns  could  have  followed  it, 
is  but  another  form  of  wisdom, — of  religion  ;  is  itself  wisdom 
and  rehgion.  But  this,  also,  was  denied  him.  His  poetry  is 
a  stray,  vagrant  gleam,  which  will  not  be  extinguished  within 
him,  yet  rises  not  to  be  the  true  light  of  his  path,  but  is  often 
a  wildfire  that  misleads  him.  It  was  not  necessary  for  Burns 
to  be  rich,  to  be,  or  to  seem,  independent ;  but  it  was  neces- 
sary for  him  to  be  at  one  with  his  own  heart ;  to  place  what 
was  highest  in  his  nature,  highest  also  in  his  life  ;  'to  seek 
within  himself  for  that  consistency  and  sequence,  which  ex- 
ternal events  would  forever  refuse  him.'  He  was  born  a 
poet ;  poetry  was  the  celestial  element  of  his  being,  and  should 
have  been  the  soul  of  all  his  endeavours.  Lifted  into  that 
serene  ether,  whither  he  had  wings  given  him  to  mount,  he 
would  have  needed  no  other  elevation. 

Poverty,  neglect,  and  all  evil,  save  the  desecration  of  him- 
self and  his  art,  were  a  small  matter  to  him :  the  pride  and 
the  passions  of  the  world  lay  far  beneath  his  feet ;  and  he 
looked  down  alike  on  noble  and  slave,  on  prince  and  beggar, 
and  all  that  wore  the  stamp  of  man,  with  clear  recognition, 
with  brotherly  affection,  with  sympathy,  with  pity.  Nay,  we 
question  whether  for  his  culture  as  a  poet,  poverty,  and  much 
suffering  for  a  season,  were  not  absolutely  advantageous. 
Great  men,  in  looking  back  over  their  lives,  have  testified  to 
that  effect.  '  I  would  not  for  much,'  says  Jean  Paul,  '  that  I 
had  been  born  richer.'  And  yet  Paul's  birth  was  poor  enough ; 
for,  in  another  place,  he  adds :  '  the  prisoner's  allowance  is 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES. 


S^7 


bread  and  water ;  and  I  had  often  only  the  latter.'  But  the 
gold  that  is  refined  in  the  hottest  furnace,  comes  out  the  pur- 
est ;  or,  as  he  himself  has  expressed  it,  *  the  canary-bird  sings 
sweeter  the  longer  it  has  been  trained  in  a  darkened  cage.' 

A  man  like  Burns  might  have  divided  his  hours  between 
poetry  and  virtuous  industry  ;  industry  which  all  true  feeling 
sanctions,  nay  prescribes,  and  which  has  a  beauty,  for  that 
cause,  beyond  the  pomp  of  thrones :  but  to  divide  his  hours 
between  poetry  and  rich  men's  banquets,  was  an  ill-starred 
and  inauspicious  attempt.  How  could  he  be  at  ease  at  such 
banquets  ?  What  had  he  to  do  there,  mingling  his  music 
with  the  coarse  roar  of  altogether  earthly  voices,  and  bright- 
ening the  thick  smoke  of  intoxication  with  fire  lent  him  from 
Heaven  ?  Was  it  his  aim  to  enjoy  life  ?  To-morrow  he  must 
go  drudge  as  an  Exciseman  !  We  wonder  not  that  Burns 
became  moody,  indignant,  and  at  times  an  offender  against 
certain  rules  of  society ;  but  rather  that  he  did  not  grow  ut- 
terly frantic,  and  '  run  a  muck '  against  them  all.  How  could 
a  man,  so  falsely  placed,  by  his  own  or  others'  fault,  ever 
know  contentment,  or  peaceable  diligence,  for  an  hour? 
What  he  did,  under  such  perverse  guidance,  and  what  he 
forbore  to  do,  alike  fill  us  with  astonishment  at  the  natural 
strength  and  worth  of  his  character. 

Doubtless  there  was  a  remedy  for  this  perverseness :  but 
not  in  others ;  only  in  himself;  least  of  all  in  simple  increase 
of  wealth  and  worldly  respectability. 


Emblems. — James  Montgomery. 

[An  example  of  '  Expression'  and  '  Variation,'  as  produced  by  vivid 
sentiment.  The  successive  stages  of  the  style  of  elocution,  in  the  read- 
ing of  tliis  piece,  are  those  wliich  indicate  seriousness,  solevinity,  and  aioe.\ 

An  evening-cloud,  in  brief  siLspense, 

Was  hither  driven  and  thither  5 
It  came  I  know  not  vrhence, 

And  went  I  knew  not  whither : 
1  watched  it  changing  in  the  wind,  — 

Size,  semblance,  shape  and  hue, 


POLPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Fading  and  lessening,  —  till  behind 
It  left  no  speck  in  heaven's  deep  blue. 

Amidst  the  marshalled  host  of  night, 
Shone  a  new  star  supremely  bright : 

With  marvelling  eye,  well-pleased  to  err, 
I  hailed  the  prodigy ;  —  anon, 

It  fell ;  — it  fell  like  Lucifer, 
A  flash,  a  blaze,  a  train  —  'twas  gone  J 
And  then  I  sought  in  vain  its  place 
Throughout  the  infinite  of  space. 

Dew-drops,  at  day-spring,  decked  a  line 

Of  gossamer  so  frail,  so  fine, 

A  fly's  Aving  shook  it :  round  and  clear, 

As  if  by  fairy-fingers  strung. 
Like  orient  pearls,  at  Beauty's  ear, 

In  trembling  brilUancy  they  hung 
Upon  a  rosy  brier,  whose  bloom 
Shed  nectar  round  them  and  perfume  : 

Ere  long,  exhaled  in  limpid  air. 

Some  mingled  with  the  breath  of  morn, 

Some  slid  down  singly,  here  and  there, 
Like  tears,  by  their  own  weight  overborne  j 

At  length  the  film  itself  collapsed  ;  and  where 
The  pageant  glittered,  lo  I  a  naked  thorn. 

What  are  the  living  ?     Hark  !  a  sound 
From  the  grave  and  cradle  crying, 

By  earth  and  ocean  echoed  round, — 
'  The  living  are  the  dying !' 

From  infancy  to  utmost  age, 
What  is  man's  line  of  pilgrimage  ? 

The  pathway  to  Death's  portal ; 
The  moment  we  begin  to  be. 
We  enter  on  the  agony  ;  — 

The  dead  are  the  immortal ; 
They  live  not  on  expiring  breath, 
They  only  are  exempt  from  death. 

Cloud-atoms,  sparkles  of  a  falling  star, 
Dew-drops,  or  films  of  gossamer  we  are  : 
What  can  the  state  beyond  us  be  1 
Life  1  —  Deatli  1  —  Ali !  no,  —  a  greater  mystery  j  ■ 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES. 

What  thought  hath  not  conceived,  ear  heard,  eye  seen 
Perfect  existence  from  a  point  begun  5 

Part  of  what  God's-  eternity  hath  been : 
Wliole  immortaUty  belongs  to  none 
But  Him,  the  first,  the  last,  the  Only  One  ! 


Parson  Th acker's  Day. — Columbian  Magazine. 

[The  object  in  view,  in  the  practice  of  colloquial  pieces,  like  the  follow- 
ing, is  to  break  up  the  habit  of  dry,  monotonous  reading,  to  which  stu- 
dents, in  general,  are  so  prone.  Flexibility  of  voice  is  greatly  facilita- 
ted by  such  exercises,  if  the  reading  is  done  in  the  familiar  and  humor- 
ous strain  implied  in  the  peculiar  style  of  the  passage.] 

When  ray  brother  E.  was  a  little  boy,  his  health  was  deli- 
cate ;  and  he  was  sent  into  the  country  to  school,  and  there 
boarded  at  a  great  old  farm  house,  one  in  the  real  New  En- 
gland style,  of  which  few  specimens  now  remain.  Here,  in 
the  first  cold  weather  of  aufumn,  the  family  congregated  about 
the  kitchen  fire,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  flower-pots  which 
still  ornamented  the  hearth  of  the  keeping-room.  The  young 
student  from  Boston  was  accommodated,  on  one  side  of  the 
fire,  with  a  little  stand,  on  which  was  placed  a  large  iron  can- 
dlestick, bearing  a  dipt  candle  with  a  wick  an  inch  long,  for 
the  furtherance  of  his  studies.  Not  being  much  inspired  by 
the  book  under  these  circumstances,  E.  was  wont  to  listen  to 
the  talk  of  an  ancient  dame,  who  sat  with  a  perennial  foun- 
tain of  knitting-work,  in  a  high-backed  chair  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fire,  bestowing  various  hints  and  cautions  upon  a 
young  clergyman,  lately  ordained,  and  hoped  he  would  be 
'  kerried  through '  all  the  work  which  was  before  him,  in  the 
ministry  of  that  parish. 

The  young  clergyman,  city-bred,  and  only  a  guest  at  the 
farm-house,  Hstened  with  deference,  and  replied  very  satis- 
factorily to  most  of  the  old  lady's  remarks  :  but  he  could  not 
be  made  to  understand  very  clearly,  in  what  particulars  he 
was  likely  to  find  his  position  more  than  usually  difficult. 
He  did  not  seem  to  doubt  that  he  should  be  '  kerried  through,' 
though  he  said  so  very  modestly. 
33* 


390  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

*  Humph  !'  gaid  the  old  lady,  taking  a  spare  knitting-needle 
from  her  work,  and  passing  it  gently  under  her  cap  with  a 
reflective  air,  '  did  you  ever  hear  about  parson  Thacher's 
<iay  ?  My  grandmother  could  remember  parson  Thacher, 
though  he  died  in  1727.  He  was  a  man  that  had  been  to 
school,  and  then  to  college,  in  this  country ;  and  that  wasn't 
•enough,  but  he  must  be  sent  to  the  old  country  ;  (it  was  the 
custom  in  them  days  ;)  yes,  to  Leyden,  where  he  studied  for 
the  ministry,  and  not  only  that,  but  learned  medicine  and 
surgery ;  and  not  content  with  that,  studied  law  besides." 

The  young  divine  began  to  open  his  eyes  at  this  enumera- 
tion of  his  predecessor's  accomplishments. 

*Yes,'  continued  the  good  lady ;  'and  besides  he  was  a 
good  mechanic  ;  so  that  he  could  use  almost  any  tool.  Well 
he  came  back,  and  settled  in  this  town,  and  married  a  young 
woman  who  made  him  a  good  wife  ;  and  they  lived  very  com- 
fortably in  their  plain  way.' 

*  But,'  said  the  young  clergyman,  who  being  fresh  from 
college,  was  the  least  in  the  world  priggish,  '  I  can  scarcely 
see  how  Mr.  Thacher's  European  acquirements  were  neces- 
sary to  fit  him  for  such  a  position.' 

'  Humph  !'  said  the  old  lady  again,  '  stay  till  I  tell  you 
my  story.  One  Monday  morning,  parson  Thacher  said  to 
his  wife,  "  I've  engaged  to  go  to  D ,  to  preach  an  ordin- 
ation sermon  on  Wednesday,  and  I  must  set  out  to-morrow ; 
60  this  day  I  must  have  entirely  for  my  study  ;  and  you  must 
not  allow  me  to  be  interrupted  for  any  thing — short  of  a  case 
of  life  or  death."  So  Mrs.  Thacher  promised  ;  and  the  good 
parson  went  thoughtfully  up  stairs  to  prepare  his  sermon. 

*  He  was  scarcely  seated,  when  a  woman  of  the  neighbour- 
hood came  in,  almost  breathless,  anxiously  inquiring  for  Mr. 
Thacher. 

"  He  is  in  his  study  and  cannot  be  disturbed  on  any  ac- 
count." 

"  Oh  !  dear  !"  says  the  poor  woman,  "  I  don't  know  what 
I  shall  do  then  ;  for  our  best  cow's  .very  sick,  and  nobody  can't 
do  nothing  to  help  her.     We've  had  Loren  the  cow-doctor, 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES.  391 

and  he  can't  tell  what's  the  matter  with  her.  What  will  be- 
come of  us,  if  we  lose  her  ?"  Now,- Mrs.  Thacher  felt  so  bad 
to  think  the  woman  must  lose  her  cow,  that  she  e'en  ventured 
up  stairs,  and  knocked  at  her  husband's  door. 

"  Wife,  you  know  I  told  you  I  could'nt  — " 

"  Yes  ;  but  poor  Mrs.  Trimbley  — ;"  and  then  she  told  all 
about  the  cow,  and  tried  to  persuade  the  parson  to  go  at  once. 
This,  he  said,  was  out  of  the  question  :  but  he  would  certain- 
ly call  after  dinner,  as  he  was  obliged  to  pass  by  Mr.  Trim- 
bley's,  to  go  to  a  raising,  where  he  had  promised  to  make  a 
prayer.  So  the  poor  woman  went  home  very  much  comfort- 
ed to  think  that  parson  Thacher  would  come  at  all,  so  great 
was  her  opinion  of  his  skill.  She  had  hardly  shut  the  gate, 
when  another  neighbour  came  in,  as  flurried  and  out  of  breath 
as  Mrs.  Trimbley ;  hardly  remembering  to  say  *  how  d'ye 
do  ?'  before  she  cried  out,  "  Where  is  Mr.  Thacher  ?" 

"  My  husband's  in  his  study,  and  cannot  be " 

"  Oh !  run  up,  do,  Mrs.  Thacher,  and  tell  him  that  Mr. 
Vose  and  Mr.  Hunt  have  had  an  awful  quarrel  again  ;  and 
Mr.  Vose  says  he'll  go  right  off  to  Boston,  and  employ  law- 
yer Gridley,"  (a  pretty  awful  threatin  those  days  !)  "  for  he 
won't  put  up  with  ill  usage  any  longer." 

'  This  frightened  Mrs.  Thacher  dreadfully,  to  think  a 
quarrel  should  get  to  such  a  length  in  the  neighbourhood.  So 
knowing  her  husband's  power  as  a  peace-maker,  she  went  up 
to  his  study-door  once  more. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  now,  wife  ?"  said  parson  Thacher. 

"  Oh !  a  dreadful  quarrel,"  etc.,  repeating  all  the  threats 
and  hard  speeches,  and  begging  her  husband  to  interfere  with- 
out delay. 

"  Well,  I  can't  possibly  go  now,  but  send  word  to  Mr. 
Vose  not  to  go  to  Boston  till  he  has  seen  me.  I  will  call  af- 
ter dinner,  as  I  go  to  the  raising." 

*  This  pacified  the  messenger ;  and  the  parson  went  on 
with  about  the  '  fourthly'  of  his  ordination  sermon. 

'  Presently  a  violent  rapping  with  the  heavy  end  of  a  whip, 
was  heard  at  the  door ;  and  a  farmer  from  some  distance  off, 


S92  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

inquired  for  Mr.  Thacher.  Mrs.  Thacher  repeated  the  old 
excuse  ;  but  the  farmer  was  not  to  be  put  off  so  easily.  He 
insisted  on  the  minister's  wife  going  up  and  telling  her  hus- 
band that  a  man  was  below  who  must  see  him,  being  in  great 
trouble  and  wanting  immediate  help.  Upon  this,  with  many- 
groans,  the  parson  at  length  came  down,  and  learned  that  the 
man's  axletree  had  broken,  under  a  load  of  potash-kettles, 
and  he  could  do  nothing  without  help. 

I  "  The  only  thing  to  be  done,"  said  parson  Thacher,  "  is  to 
make  another  axletree  just  like  that. — Go  to  my  shed  ;  there 
you  will  find  a  box  of  tools.  Cut  down  a  young  hickory  ; 
make  your  axletree ;  and  when  it  is  ready  I'll  come  and  help 
you  put  it  in." 

*  And  then  the  parson  turned  to  go  up  stairs  again ;  but 
Mrs.  Thacher  told  him  the  dinner  was  ready  to  take  up,  and 
would  be  on  the  table  in  a  minute.  So  he  sat  down  to  din- 
ner ;  and  when  that  was  finished,  it  was  quite  time  to  go  to 
the  raising.  On  the  way,  he  remembered  the  sick  cow.  He 
found  the  poor  cow  in  great  pain,  and  several  of  the  neigh- 
bours standing  round,  looking  at  her. 

"  Have  you  tried  this,  and  this,  and  such  another  thing  ?" 
"  Yes  ;  but  nothing  does  any  good  !" 

*  And  then  parson  Thacher,  with  all  his  Leyden  learning, 
went  close  up  to  the  cow,  and  examined  her  all  over. 

"  Make  beef  of  her  while  you  can,  Mrs.  Trimbley,"  said  he ; 
"  for  her  leg  is  broken  ;  and  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

*  And  so  he  jogged  on  to  the  scene  of  the  quarrel.  There 
he  found  Mr.  Vose  in  a  towering  passion,  declaring  he  would 
go  yet  to  Boston  for  'squire  Gridley,  although  he  had  waited, 
out  of  respect  for  the  pastor. 

"  What  is  the  difficulty  this  time  ?"  said  parson  Thacher. 

"  Oh  !  the  old  thing  over  again.  His  cows  have  been  in 
my  corn  ;  and  I  know  they  were  turned  in  on  purpose  ;  and 
I'm  determined,  if  it  costs  me  every " 

*'  Send  for  Mr.  Hunt !"  said  parson  Thacher ;  and  Mr. 
Hunt  came.  After  some  parley  and  hard  things  said  on  both 
sides,  the  parson  asked : 


MISCELLANEOUS  EXERCISES.  8^ 

"  What  may  be  the  damage  in  money  ?" 

"  About  twenty  pistareens,''  says  Mr.  Vose. 

"  Well,  you  wont  object  to  paying  that,"  said  the  pastor. 

"  Why  —  no  —  "  said  Mr.  Hunt ;  and  after  a  friendly  ex- 
hortation, the  parson  went  on  his  way  at  a  brisk  trot ;  fearing 
to  be  late  at  the  raising.  Here  he  found  all  in  commotion ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  appeared,  his  name  was  called  out  by  a 
dozen  at  once.  A  man  had  fallen  off  the  timbers,  and  wa3 
taken  up  for  dead.  "  But  here  is  parson  Thacher,"  said  they. 
And  the  parson  felt  the  man's  pulse,  said  he  was  not  dead, 
called  for  bandages,  drew  out  a  lancet,  bled  him ;  and,  in  a 
short  time,  signs  of  life  appeared.  All  was  soon  over,  and 
the  man  recovered.  The  raising  went  on  ;  the  minister  made 
his  prayer,  and  then  set  off  for  home,  knowing  he  had  the  or- 
dination sermon  yet  to  finish.  As  he  came  past  Hunt's,  he 
found  the  man  waiting  at  the  gate  for  him. 

"  Mr.  Thacher,"  says  he,  "  you've  saved  me  from  an  ugly 
quarrel,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  My  wife  wants  you  to  ac- 
cept of  a  leg  of  bacon  of  her  own  curing ;  and  if  you'll  wait 
a  minute,  Til  step  in  and  get  it,  and  put  it  in  your  saddle- 
bags." 

*  So  the  bacon  was  brought,  and  it  took  some  little  time  to 
get  it  into  the  saddle-bags ;  but, — sermon  or  no  sermon,— 
such  a  present  must  not  be  refused.  And  parson  Thacher 
trotted  on,  hoping  supper  would  be  ready  when  he  got  home. 
He  had  to  pass  Yose's  door,  too  ;  and  Vose,  who  was  busy 
with  something  in  the  yard,  looked  up  and  saw  the  minister, 
and  stopped  him,  that  he  might  thank  him  for  his  friendly  of- 
fice in  the  quarrel.  While  they  were  talking,  Mr.  Thacher 
said: 

"  Mr.  Vose,  may  I  trouble  you  to  hand  me  up  a  good  big 
stone,  to  put  in  the  other  side  of  my  saddle-bags  ?  For  JVIrs. 
Hunt  has  given  me  a  leg  of  bacon  that  weighs  them  down  un- 
equally, and  causes  them  to  slip." 

"  Not  I,  indeed,  parson  Thacher,"  says  Vose ;  "  but  my 
wife  has  got  some  nice  cheeses ;  and  if  you'll  wait  just  one 
minute,  I'll  step  in  and  get  one  to  balance  your  saddle-bags." 


394  PULPIT   ELOCUTION. 

'  The  cheese  was  forthcoming  in  a  moment,  and  stowed 
away ;  and  parson  Thacher  cherupt  on  his  horse,  and  soon 
saw  home.  But  at  the  gate  he  was  met  by  his  wife,  with  a 
troubled  countenance. 

"  Here  are  Mr.  Mitchell  and  Mr.  Wales,  come  to  stay  all 
night,  to  go  with  you  to-morrow  to  the  ordination ;  and  I've 
nothing  in  the  world  for  supper  but  some  eggs." 

"  Don't  be  troubled,  my  dear,"  said  parson  Thacher ;  and 
with  that  he  pulled  the  ham  and  the  cheese  out  of  the  saddle- 
bags, and  was  about  to  step  in  to  welcome  his  friends,  when 
the  man  of  the  axletree  boarded  him,  seemingly  a  good  deal 
out  of  patience. 

"  Why,  parson  Thacher,  you've  staid  so  long,  that  it's  too 
late  for  me  to  go  to-night.  There  was  nobody  else  here  that 
could  help  me ;  and  so  here  I  am." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  neighbour  ;  you  can  sleep  here,  and 
go  in  the  morning." 

"  Aye ;  but  I  must  be  ready  to  start  before  day,"  said  the 
farmer ;  "  and  the  axletree  has  got  to  be  mended  to-night." 

*  Mr.  Thatcher  saw  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  help  the 
poor  man,  after  his  own  fashion  ;  so  he  called  for  the  lantern, 
put  up  his  horse,  helped  the  man  in  with  his  axletree,  ate  his 
supper,  performed  the  family  devotions,  saw  all  his  guests 
safely  stowed  away  for  the  night,  and  then  sat  down  and  fin- 
ished his  ordination  sermon.  And  so  ended  parson  Thacher's 
day.' 

The  old  lady  looked  at  the  young  clergyman ;  but  he  did 
not  speak.  He  wore  a  very  sad  countenance,  and  very  soon 
taking  up  his  tall  iron  candlestick,  went  musingly  to  bed. 


MISCELLANEOUS    EXERCISES.  395 


The  Sun's  Eclipse.  (July  8,  1842.)— Horace  Smith. 

[The  reading  of  this  piece  calls  for  the  successive  '  Expression'  of  awe, 
terror,  horror,  and  Joy,  as  elicited  by  description,  in  the  form  of  poetry.] 

'Tis  cloudless  morning ;  but  a  frown  misplaced, 

Cold,  lurid,  strange, 
Her  summer  smile  from  Nature's  brow  hath,  chased : 

What  fearful  change, 
"What  menacing  catastrophe  is  thus 
Ushered  by  such  prognostics  ominous  1 

Is  it  the  life  of  day,  this  livid  glare, 

Death's  counterpart  1 
What  means  the  withering  coldness  in  the  air, 

That  chills  my  heart. 
And  what  the  gloom  portentous  that  hath  made 
The  glow  of  morning  a  funereal  shade  1 

O'er  the  Sun's  disk,  a  dark  orb  wins  its  slow 

Gloom-deepening  way, 
Climbs,  —  spreads,  —  enshrouds,  —  extinguishes,  —  and  lo ! 

The  god  of  day 
Hangs  in  the  sky,  a  corpse !  the  usurper's  might 
Hath  stormed  his  tlirone,  and  quenched  the  life  of  light ! 

A  pall  is  on  the  earth ;  —  the  screaming  birds 

To  covert  speed, 
Bewildered  and  aghast ;  the  bellowing  herds 

Rush  o'er  the  mead ; 
While  men,  —  pale  shadows  in  the  ghastly  gloom, — 
Seem  spectral  forms  just  risen  from  the  tomb. 

Transient,  though  total,  was  that  drear  eclipse : 

With  might  restored. 
The  Sun  regladdened  earth ;  —  but  human  lips 

Have  never  poured 
In  mortal  ears  the  horrors  of  the  sight 
That  thrilled  my  soul  that  memorable  night. 

To  every  distant  zone  and  fulgent  star 

Mine  eyes  could  reach, 
And  the  wide  waste  was  one  chaotic  war : 

O'er  all  and  each, — 
Above  —  beneath  —  around  me  —  everywhere  — 
Was  anarchy,  —  convulsion,  —  death,  —  despair. 


396  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

'Twas  noon ;  —  and  yet  a  deep  unnatural  night 

Enshrouded  heaven, 
Save  where  some  orb  unsphered,  or  satelhte 

Franticly  driven, 
Glared  as  it  darted  through  the  darkness  dread, 
Blind,  —  rudderless,  —  unchecked,  —  unpiloted. 

A  thousand  simultaneous  thunders  crashed, 

As  here  and  there. 
Some  rushing  planet  'gainst  another  dashed, 

Shooting  through  air 
Volleys  of  shatter  d  wreck,  when  both,  destroyed. 
Foundered  and  sank  in  the  ingulfing  void. 

Others  self-kindled,  as  they  whirled  and  turned. 

Without  a  guide, 
Burst  into  flames,  and  rushing  as  they  burned 

With  range  more  wide, 
Like  fire-ships  that  some  stately  fleet  surprise, 
Spread  havoc  through  the  constellated  skies. 

While  stars  kept  falling  from  their  spheres,  —  as  though 
The  heavens  wept  fire,  — 

Earth  was  a  raging  hell  of  Avar  and  wo 
Most  deep  and  dire ; 

Virtue  was  vice,  —  vice,  virtue  —  all  was  strife ; 

Brute  force  was  law, — justice,  the  assassin's  knife. 

From  that  fell  scene  my  space-commanding  eye 

Glad  to  withdraw, 
I  pierced  the  empyrean  "palace  of  the  sky, 

And  shuddering  saw 
A  vacant  throne,  —  a  sun's  extinguished  sphere, — 
All  else  a  void,  —  dark,  desolate,  and  drear. 

'What  mean,'  I  cried,  'these  sights  unparalleled. 
These  scenes  of  fear  V 

When  lo !  a  voice  replied ;  and  nature  held 
Her  breath  to  hear  — 

'  Mortal !  the  scroll  before  thine  eyes  unfurled 

Displays  a  soul-eclipse,  —  an  atheist  world !' 

I  woke  —  my  dream  was  o'er !    What  ecstasy 

It  was  to  know 
That  Grod  was  guide  and  guardian  of  the  sky, 

That  man  below. 
Deserved  the  love  I  felt,  —  I  could  not  speak 
The  thrilling  joy  whose  tears  were  on  my  cheek ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  897 


The  Moravians  at  Hernhut. —  William  Hotvitt. 

[An  example  of  'Expression'  in  historical  narrative;  —  the  style  of  read- 
ing devoted^  equable,  and  sustained, — fi''~'^i  but  animated-Y'^ 

Count  Zinzendorf  was  descended  from  an  ancient  and  dis- 
tinguished Austrian  family,  his  branch  of  which  had  for  some 
time  settled  in  Saxony ;  and  his  father  was  a  minister  of  State 
in  high  esteem.  He  died  when  the  Count  was  an  infant. 
His  mother  married  the  Prussian  field-marshal  Von  Nasmar, 
and  went  to  live  at  Berlin ;  leaving  him  to  the  care  of  his 
grandmother,  the  Baroness  von  Gersdrif,  who  resided  on  the 
family  estate  at  Gross-Kennersdorf.  Here,  under  her  care, 
and  that  of  a  pious  aunt,  he  was  brought  up  with  great  ten- 
derness and  love  of  religion.  It  is,  indeed,  from  these  circum- 
stances that  he  acquired  such  an  unconquerable  attachment 
both  to  religion  and  to  this  neighbourhood,  in  which  the  estates 
of  Gross-Kennersdorf  and  Kennersdorf  were  his  inheritance. 

At  the  universities  of  Halle  and  Wittemburg,  he  was  dis- 
tinguished for  his  earnest  piety,  and  formed  connections  with 
youths  there  of  similar  disposition.  Amid  the  fiery  disputes 
which,  at  that  period,  were  going  on  between  different  religious 
parties,  these  young  men  organized  an  association  of  their  own, 
for  prayer  and  mutual  edification. 

The  formation  of  the  Moravian  Society  in  Saxony,  and  of 
the  Methodist  Society  in  England,  which  were  nearly  con- 
temporary, were  wonderfully  similar.  As  Wesley  found,  in 
his  brother  Charles,  a  kindred  spirit,  who  was  destined  to 
stand  as  his  ablest  champion  and  right-hand  supporter,  and  to 

=*  An  important  branch  of  elocutionary  practice,  is  the  reading  of  nar- 
ratives the  subject  and  the  style  of  which,  by  their  interesting  character, 
tend  to  create  an  animated  and  glowing  style  of  reading.  The  com- 
parative length  of  such  exercises  is  always  one  source  of  their  mental 
effect.  The  pieces  furnished  in  books  of  extracts  are,  generally,  too 
brief  to  produce  any  deep  impression  on  the  mind.  One  use  of  such  ex- 
ercises as  the  above,  is  to  serve  as  an  effective  preparation  for  the  appro- 
priate reading  of  accounts  of  missionary  labours,  and  other  enterprises  of 
Christian  benevolence. 

34 


39$  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

be  his  friend  and  constantly  active  coadjutor  and  counsellor 
through  his  remarkable  career,  and  the  establishment  of  his 
religious  body,  so  Zinzendorf  found  amongst  these  college 
comrades,  the  young  Baron  von  Watteville,  a  similarly  affec- 
tionate friend  and  fellow-labourer,  through  life. 

At  leaving  the  university,  his  mother  and  other  friends 
were  very  pressing  that  he  should  take  office,  as,  through  his 
wealth  and  connections,  he  was  certain  of  rising  to  much 
greater  substance  and  distinction  than  he  even  then  possessed. 
He  complied  reluctantly  with  their  wishes,  but  soon  found 
that  his  life  was  intolerable  to  him.  He  had  always,  from 
his  boyhood  up,  entertained  an  ardent  desire  to  do  something 
for  the  advancement  of  Christianity.  He  could  not  tell  what 
it  should  be ;  but  it  perpetually  hovered  before  him,  as  the 
great  end  and  object  of  his  life,  and  only  strengthened  with 
his  years.  He  had  religious  meetings  at  his  house, — greatly 
to  the  scandal  of  the  nobles  and  courtiers, — to  which  those  of 
his  own  way  of  thinking  came  ;  and  he  was  still  meditating 
in  what  way  he  should  devote  himself  to  the  cause  of  religion, 
without  having  any  more  clear  conception  of  the  mode,  when 
Providence,  which  had  no  doubt  prepared  the  work  for  the 
instrument,  and  the  instrument  for  the  work,  now  opened  out 
his  destined  task  before  him.  This,  however,  was  displayed 
only  by  degrees ;  and  when,  in  a  few  years,  he  looked  round 
him,  and  saw  the  shape  which  his  labours  had  assumed,  and 
the  vast  space  over  which  they  had  extended  themselves,  he 
could  not  avoid  a  deep  astonishment. 

His  income,  during  his  minority,  had  been  accumulating. 
He  wanted  an  investment :  Bertholdsdorf,  adjoining  his  own 
estates,  and  on  the  lands  of  which  Hernhut  stands,  was  to  be 
sold ;  and  he  bought  it.  He  bought  it,  however,  without  any 
idea  of  adding  to  his  worldly  greatness,  but  with  the  purpose 
of  dedicating  it  to  the  service  of  Christianity.  It  was  a  wild 
and  woodland  district ;  and  he  proposed  to  employ  the  people 
upon  it,  and  to  form  them  upon  it  to  a  religious  and  superior 
life ;  but  the  field  of  action  was  now  prepared,  and  other  and 
unexpected  occupants  came  into  it. 


MISCELLANEOUS    EXERCISES.  399 

Christian  David,  a  Moravian  carpenter,  a  descendant  of  an 
ancient  and  a  persecuted  race,  and  himself  a  man  who  went 
far  and  wide,  preaching  the  gospel,  came  to  the  Count  at 
Dresden,  and  informed  him  that,  in  Moravia,  were  descendants 
of  the  ancient  Waldenses,  who  had  fled  from  an  exterminating 
persecution  into  Bohemia,  who  had  there  joined  the  followers 
of  Huss,  and  formed  the  Taborite  party.  When  the  Jesuits 
and  Ferdinand  11.  had  begun  their  bloody  extirpation  of  Pro- 
testantism in  Bohemia,  the  remnant  of  this  party  had  emigra- 
ted, when  all  hope  of  resistance  was  at  an  end ;  and,  a  hundred 
years  after,  they  appeared  again  in  Moravia.  Here,  they 
were,  at  this  moment,  the  victims  of  continued  persecution, 
and  were  casting  about  their  eyes  for  a  place  of  refuge  and  of 
rest.  The  intelligence  was,  to  the  Count,  like  a  message  from 
heaven.  To  save  the  remnant  of  this  ancient  church ;  to  give 
it  a  place  of  retreat  and  restoration  ;  to  make  it  an  instrument 
in  the  promotion  of  a  purer  and  more  active  faith,  were  ob- 
jects so  exactly  after  his  heart  and  his  unceasing  desires,  that 
he  at  once  promised  them  a  cordial  welcome. 

Christian  David  set  oflf  with  the  glad  tidings,  and  soon  after 
appeared  at  Hernhut,  with  a  band  of  pilgrims,  who  had  sacri- 
ficed all  they  possessed  in  Moravia,  to  seek  a  more  auspicious 
home  there.  The  Count  was  then  on  a  journey ;  but  Chris- 
tian David  planned,  with  the  pilgrims,  the  place  of  their  set- 
tlement. They  pitched  on  a  situation  for  their  dwellings ; 
and  the  spot  where  they  cut  down  the  first  tree,  is  now  marked 
with  a  monument,  which  stands  near  the  highway,  and  is  still 
in  the  wood.  Temporary  huts  only  were  raised  here  :  the 
site  of  the  village,  on  the  arrival  of  the  Count,  was  fixed  a 
little  short  of  this  spot.  Here,  at  this  moment,  you  are  as 
much  immured  in  the  forest  as  the  first  settlers  were ;  while 
the  village  itself  is  but  a  few  hundred  yards  before  you. 
Pleasant  walks,  in  all  directions,  are,  with  the  best  taste,  car- 
ried through  these  woods  from  Hernhut ;  so  that  visitors,  or 
the  inhabitants,  can  still  please  themselves  with  a  very  lively 
impression  of  the  scene  as  it  first  appeared  to  the  settlers ; 
while  a  most  charming  rural  solitude  is  preserved  to  the  lovers 
of  it  in  the  place. 


400  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

The  monument  is  of  granite,  plain,  and  bearing  this  in- 
scription :  '  On  the  17th  of  January,  1722,  was,  on  this  spot, 
for  the  building  of  Hernhut,  the  first  tree  felled.'  The  quo- 
tation from  the  Psalms  is  :  '  Well  for  them  who  dwell  in  thy 
house  ;  who  praise  thee  for  evermore.'  The  expression  in  the 
10th  verse  of  the  Psalm,  '  der  Thur  huten  in  meines  Gottes 
JIause,'  (to  watch,  or  keep  the  door,  in  the  house  of  my  God,) 
is  closely  connected  with  the  choice  of  the  name  of  their  com- 
munity, ^Hemhuter^'  (the  Lord's  Watchers,)  and  ^  Hernhut,^ 
(the  Lord's  Watch.) 

An  open  space  is  left  around  this  interesting  monument ; 
and  the  green  foliage  of  the  forest  makes  a  living  scene  about 
this  quiet  and  memorable  spot. 

The  Count,  hastening  to  greet  the  arrival  of  these  pilgrims, 
beheld,  as  he  drove  along  the  road  towards  Bertholdsdorf,  a 
little  on  the  right,  a  temporary  dwelling  erected  on  this  spot, 
and  alighting  hastened  into  it,  welcomed  the  simple  people 
with  most  cordial  greetings,  embraced  them,  and,  kneeling 
down  with  them  on  their  new  hearth,  thanked  God  with  them 
that  they  had  at  length  found  a  spot  of  rest,  and  prayed  for 
His  blessing  on  their  abode  here.  He  quickly  joined  them  in 
selecting  the  best  location,  and  laying  out  the  plan  of  their 
village.  By  the  able  and  zealous  aid  of  Christian  David, 
these  were  soon  settled,  and  huts  raised  for  their  present  habi- 
tations, and  the  clearing  of  ground  sufficient  for  their  subsist- 
ence commenced. 

More  emigrants  arrived  from  time  to  time ;  the  colony 
flourished  rapidly.  A  zealous  minister  was  provided  for  the 
neighbouring  church  of  Bertholdsdorf,  who  for  some  time 
took  also  the  pastoral  charge  of  the  new  settlement.  The 
more  the  Count  saw  of  this  simple  and  truly  Christian  people, 
the  more  he  learned  of  their  faith  and  history,  the  more  his 
heart  clung  to  them ;  and  the  more  he  became  persuaded  that 
Providence  intended,  through  them,  to  effect  some  great  work. 
He  made  over  the  whole  of  his  purchase  to  the  purposes  of 
his  new  community.  He  hastened  to  retire  from  the  (to  him) 
uncongenial  court.     He  came  and  settled  himself  down  per- 


MISCELLANEOUS    EXERCISES.  401 

manently  here.  He  had  married  a  lady,  the  Grafin  Reuss, 
the  sister  of  one  of  his  most  dear  old  college  friends,  who,  as 
the  event  proved,  was,  of  all  women,  the  very  one  most 
adapted  to  his  sentiments,  his  views,  and  the  work  he  had  be- 
fore him.  Able,  zealous,  sincerely  pious,  a  perfect  lady  in 
mind,  manners,  and  rank :  she  went,  step  for  step,  in  all  his 
plans  with  him,  and  took  off  his  hands  all  that  host  of  domes- 
tic affairs,  and  the  superintendence  of  the  general  female  af- 
fairs of  the  community,  which  in  time  came  to  be  so  weighty 
and  multifarious. 

The  commencement  of  the  Moravian  missions,  which  have 
become  so  wonderfully  extensive,  was,  apparently,  the  result 
of  accident.  As  Count  Zinzendorf  was  in  Copenhagen  in 
1731,  he  met  with  a  negro  from  St.  Thomas'  in  the  West  In- 
dies, who  lamented  that  his  sister  there  could  not  hear  the 
gospel.  Here  also  he  heard  of  the  labours  and  difficulties  of 
Hans  Egede  in  Greenland  ;  and  a  new  world  was  opened  to 
him.  Missions  were  sent  to  St.  Thomas',  to  Greenland,  to 
Labrador,  to  the  Cape,  to  Egypt,  to  Turkey,  to  the  East  In- 
dies ;  and  out  of  these  have  grown  the  amazing  fruits  of  the 
Hernhuters'  great  missionary  zeal. 

No  body  of  Christians,  with  the  same  means  and  the  same 
numbers,  have  achieved  such  miracles  ;  and  no  preachers 
amongst  the  heathen  have  conducted  themselves  with  more 
faithfulness,  indefatigable  zeal,  brotherly  kindness,  simple 
truth,  and  true  and  persevering  sagacity.  So  early  as  1823, 
they  had  sixteen  settlements  in  Germany ;  three  in  Denmark ; 
five  in  Sweden  ;  one  at  Zeist  in  the  Netherlands  ;  seventeen 
in  England  ;  one  in  Scotland  ;  four  in  Ireland ;  one  in  Rus- 
sia ;  and  upwards  of  twenty  in  North  America.  The  inhab- 
itants of  these  settlements  then  amounted  to  about  17,000 ; 
and  yet  had  this  little  quiet  body  in  their  various  missionary 
stations — in  Greenland,  Labrador,  North  America,  amongst 
the  Indians,  in  the  West  Indies,  South  America,  South  Afri- 
ca, and  amongst  the  Calmucks  in  the  steppes  of  Asiatic  Rus- 
sia,— no  less  a  number  of  converts  than  30,000. 

There  is  nothing  more  interesting  than  watching  the  pro- 
34* 


4:02  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

gress  of  a  body  like  this,  after  ages  of  persecution,  till  it 
reaches  that  point  of  time  when,  like  a  seed  buried  by  the 
hand  of  Providence  below  the  influence  of  sun  and  air,  it  is 
turned  up,  and  shoots  and  spreads  forth  on  all  sides  for  the 
accomplishment  of  some  great  end, — to  see  these  people,  who 
were  unconsciously  prepared  and  brought  together  for  the 
purpose, — to  watch  them  going  hand  in  hand,  working  at  the 
plan,  which  is  to  grow  beyond  their  own  warmest  conceptions 
into  amazing  greatness.  Thus  it  was  with  Count  Zinzendorf, 
his  faithful  patriarch.  Christian  David,  his  Bohemian  pilgrims, 
his  true  friend,  Baron  Watteville,  and  his  admirable  wife. 
There  are  no  circumstances  under  which  we  can  suppose  hu- 
man happiness  so  perfect,  as  when  congenial  spirits  create,  as 
it  were,  a  new  world  to  themselves ;  feel  themselves  active 
agents  in  the  hands  of  Providence  for  human  good ;  and, 
with  the  firmest  faith  in  the  Divine  Spirit,  go  on  through  the 
labours  of  earth,  rejoicing,  towards  a  certain  heaven,  with 
the  blessings  of  thousands  attending  them,  and  the  grateful 
honour  of  long  ages  following  them. 

On  a  Survey  of  the  Heavens,  before  day-rreak. — H.  K.  White. 

JAn  example  of  '  Expression'  and '  Variation'  in  the  successive  forms  of 
awe,  adwation,  reverence,  self-humiliation,  submission,  and  resignation.] 

Ye  many  twinkling  stars  who  yet  do  hold 

Your  brilliant  places  in  the  sable  vault 

Of  night's  dominion  ! — Planets,  and  central  orbs 

Of  other  systems ; — big  as  the  burning  sun 

Which  lights  this  nether  globe, — yet  to  our  eye 

Small  as  the  glow-worm's  lamp  ! — To  you  I  raise 

My  lowly  orisons,  while,  all  bewildered, 

My  vision  strays  o'er  your  ethereal  hosts ; 

Too  vast,  too  boundless  for  our  narrow  mind, 

Warped  with  low  prejudice,  to  unfold, 

And  sagely  comprehend, — thence  higher  soaring, — 

Through  ye  I  raise  my  solemn  tlioughts  to  Him, 

The  mighty  Founder  oi'  this  wondrous  maze. 

The  great  Creator !  Him !  who  now  sublime, 

Wrapt  in  the  solitary  ampUtude 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  403 

Of  boundless  space,  above  the  rolling  sphere 
Sits  on  his  silent  throne,  and  meditates. 

The  angelic  hosts,  in  their  inferior  heaven, 
Hymn  to  the  golden  harps  his  praise  sublime, 
Kepeating  loud, '  The  Lord  our  God  is  great !' 
In  varied  harmonies. — The  glorious  sounds 
Roll  o'er  the  air  serene. — The  JEolian  spheres, 
Harping  along  their  viewless  boundaries, 
Catch  the  full  note,  and  cry, '  The  Lord  is  great !' 
Responding  to  the  seraphim. — O'er  all, 
From  orb  to  orb,  to  the  remotest  verge 
Of  the  created  world,  the  sound  is  borne, 
Till  the  whole  universe  is  full  of  Him, 

Oh !  'tis  this  heavenly  harmony  which  now 

In  fancy  strike,  upon  my  listening  ear, 

And  thrills  my  inmost  soul.     It  bids  me  smile 

On  the  vain  world,  and  all  its  bustling  cares, 

And  gives  a  shadowy  glimpse  of  future  bliss. 

Oh  !  what  is  man,  when  at  ambition's  height, — 

"What  even  are  kings,  when  balanced  in  the  scale 

Of  these  stupendous  worlds  1     Almighty  God  ! 

Thou,  the  dread  author  of  these  wondrous  works  ! 

Say.  canst  thou  cast  on  me,  poor  passing  worm, 

One  look  of  kind  benevolence  1 — Thou  canst ; 

For  thou  art  full  of  universal  love, 

And  in  thy  boundless  goodness  wilt  impart 

Thy  beams  as  well  to  me  as  to  the  proud, 

The  pageant  insects  of  a  glittering  hour. 

Oh  !  when  reflecting  on  these  truths  sublime, 

How  insignificant  do  all  the  joys, 

The  gauds  and  honours  of  the  world  appear ! 

How  vain  ambition ! — Why  has  my  wakeful  lamp 

Outwatched  the  slow-paced  night  ? — "Why  on  the  page 

The  schoolman's  laboured  page, — have  I  employed 

The  hours  devoted  by  the  world  to  rest, 

And  needful  to  recruit  exhausted  nature  ? 

Say  ;  can  the  voice  of  narrow  Fame  repay 

The  loss  of  health "?  or  can  the  hope  of  glory 

Send  a  new  throb  unto  my  languid  heart. 

Cool,  even  now,  my  feverish  aching  brow. 

Relume  the  fires  of  this  deep  sunken  eye, 

Or  paint  new  colours  on  this  pallid  cheek  ? 


404  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Say,  foolish  one — can  that  unbodied  fame, 
For  which  thou  barterest  health  and  happiness, 
Say,  can  it  soothe  the  slumbers  of  the  grave  1 
Give  a  new  zest  to  bliss,  or  chase  the  pangs 
Of  everlasting  punishment  condign  ? 
Alas !  how  vain  are  mortal  man's  desires ! 
How  h-uitless  his  pursuits  ! — Eternal  God ! 
Guide  thou  my  footsteps  in  the  way  of  truth ; 
And  oh !  assist  me  so  to  live  on  earth, 
That  I  may  die  in  peace,  and  claim  a  place 
In  thy  liigh  dwelling. — All  but  this  is  folly, — 
The  vain  illusions  of  deceitful  life. 


The  Crowded  Street. —  W.  C.  Bryant. 

[This  piece  is  intended  to  exemplify  the  '  Expression'  and  '  Variation' 
which  characterize  reflective  sentiment.] 

Let  me  move  slowly  through  the  street, 

Filled  with  its  ever-shifting  train, 
Amid  the  sound  of  steps  that  beat 

The  murmuring  walk,  like  autumn  rain. 

How  fast  the  flitting  figures  come ! 

The  mild,  the  fierce,  the  stony  face ; 
Some  bright  with  thoughtless  smiles,  and  some 

Where  secret  tears  have  left  tlieir  trace. 

They  pass — to  toil,  to  strife,  to  rest, 

To  halls  in  which  the  feast  is  spread, 
To  chambers  where  the  funeral  guest 

In  silence  sits  beside  the  dead. 

And  some  to  happy  homes  repair. 
Where  children,  pressing  cheek  to  cheek, 

With  mute  caresses  shall  declare 
The  tenderness  they  cannot  speak. 

And  some,  who  walk  in  calmness  here, 

Shall  shudder  as  they  reach  the  door 
Where  one  who  made  their  dwelling  dear. 

Its  flower,  its  light,  is  seen  no  more. 

Youth,  with  pale  cheek  and  slender  frame, 
And  dreams  of  greatness  in  thine  eye  ! 

Goest  thou  to  build  an  early  name, — 
Or  early  in  the  task  to  die  ? 


MISCELLANEOTJS  EXERCISES.  405 

Keen  son  of  trade,  with  eager  brow ! 

Who  is  now  fluttering  in  thy  snare  ? 
Thy  golden  fortunes,  tower  thej^  now, 

Or  melt  the  glittering  spires  in  air  ? 

Who  of  this  crowd  to-night  shall  tread 

The  dance  till  daylight  gleam  again  1 
Wlio  sorrow  o'er  the  untimely  dead  1 

Who  writhe  in  throes  of  pain  1 

Some,  famine-struck,  shall  think  how  long 
The  cold  dark  hours,  how  slow  the  light !. 

And  some,  who  flaunt  amid  the  throng. 
Shall  hide  in  dens  of  shame  to  night. 

Each,  where  his  task  or  pleasures  call, 

They  pass  and  heed  each  other  not. — 
There  is  who  heeds,  who  holds  them  all, 

In  His  large  love  and  boundless  thought. 

These  struggling  tides  of  life  that  seem 

In  wayward,  aimless  course,  to  tend, 
Are  eddies  of  the  mighty  Stream 

That  rolls  to  its  predestined  End. 


Egbert  Hall. — Anon. 

[Passages  such  as  the  following  exemplify  the  varied  'Expression'  re- 
sulting from  the  successive  eff'ects  of  narration,  description,  and  didactic 
sentiment.] 

The  services  preliminary  to  the  sermon,  had  been  nearly 
gone  through,  and  the  last  verse  of  a  hymn  was  being  sung„ 
when  Mr.  Hall  ascended  slowly,  and,  I  thought^  wearily,  the 
pulpit  stairs.  No  one,  looking  at  his  somewhat  unwieldy  and 
rather  ungraceful  figure,  would  have  been  prepossessed  in  his- 
favour  ;  and,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  pulpit,  and  looked  languid- 
ly round  on  the  congregation,  I  experienced,  I  know  not  why^ 
a  feeling  of  disappointment. 

He  rose,  and  read  his  text  :  *  The  Father  of  Lights.'  At 
first,  his  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  and  there  appeared  some 
slight  hesitation ;  but  this  soon  wore  off;  and  as  he  warmed 
with  his  subject,  he  poured  forth  such  a  continuous  stream  of 
eloquence,  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  flowed  from  some  inexhaust- 


406  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

ible  source.  His  tones  were,  although  low,  beautifully  modu- 
lated ;  but,  owing  to  some  affection  in  his  throat,  his  speech- 
was,  at  short  intervals,  interrupted  by  a  short  spasmodic  cough. 

During  the  delivery  of  his  brilliant  paragraphs,  the  most 
breathless  silence  reigned  throughout  the  vast  assemblage  ; 
but  his  momentary  cessation  was  the  signal  for  general  relax- 
ation from  an  attention  so  intense  that  it  became  almost  pain- 
ful. It  was  curious  to  observe  how  every  neck  was  stretch- 
ed out,  so  that  not  a  word  which  fell  from  those  eloquent  lips 
should  be  lost ;  and  the  suspended  breathings  of  those  around 
me,  evinced  how  intently  all  were  hanging  on  his  charmed 
words. 

Mr.  Hall's  fluency  was  wonderful,  and  his  command  of 
language  unsurpassed.  I  will  not  mar  the  beauty  of  his  dis- 
course, by  attempting  to  describe  it ;  but,  as  I  followed  him, 
whilst,  by  his  vivid  imagination,  he  conveyed  his  hearers 
through  the  starry  skies,  and  reasoned,  from  those  lights  of 
the  universe,  what  the  Father  of  Lights  must  be,  I  became 
lost  in  wonder  and  admiration. 

But  the  crowning  glory  of  his  sermon  was  his  allusion  to 
the  heavenly  world,  whose  beatific  glories  he  expatiated  on, 
with  almost  the  eloquence  of  an  angel.  He  seemed  like  one 
inspired ;  and,  as  he  guided  us  by  living  streams,  and  led  us 
over  the  celestial  fields,  he  seemed  carried  away  by  his  sub- 
ject, and  his  face  beamed  as  if  it  reflected  Heaven's  own  light. 
And  this  was  the  man  who,  but  an  hour  before,  had  lain 
down  on  the  ground,  in  the  excess  of  his  agony ;  and  who, 
from  his  earliest  years,  had  constantly  endured  the  most  ex- 
cruciating torture  which  man  can  be  called  upon  to  bear  !  I 
have  myself  heard  him  say  that  he  had  never  known  one 
waking  hour  free  from  extreme  pain. 

Mr.  Hall  used  very  little  action  in  the  pulpit.  His  favour- 
ite— or,  rather  his  usual — attitude,  was,  to  stand,  and  lean  his 
chest  against  the  cushion  ;  his  left  arm  lying  on  the  Bible, 
and  his  right  hand  slightly  raised,  with  the  palm  towards  the 
audience.  His  tones  were  almost  uniformly  low ;  and  he 
rarely  raised  them.     Ideas  seemed  so  to  accumulate,  whilst 


MISCELLANEOUS   EXERCISES.  407 

he  was  preaching,  that  they  flowed  forth  without  effort  on  his 
part.  Never  did  he  hesitate  ; — and,  so  pure  were  his  oral 
compositions,  that  the  most  elaborate  efforts  of  the  pen  would 
rather  have  injured  than  improved  their  structure. 


The  Millennium  Era. — Coleridge, 

Return  pure  Faith  !  return  meek  Piety ! 

The  kingdoms  of  the  world  are  yours  :  each  heart 

Self-governed,  the  vast  family  of  Love, 

Raised  from  the  common  earth  by  common  toil. 

Enjoy  the  equal  produce.     Such  delights 

As  float  to  earth,  permitted  visitants  ! 

When  in  some  horn-  of  solemn  jubilee 

The  massy  gates  of  Paradise  are  thrown 

Wide  open,  and  forth  come  in  fragments  wild 

Sweet  echoes  of  unearthly  melodies, 

And  odours  snatched  from  beds  of  amaranth, 

And  they,  that  from  the  crystal  river  of  life 

Spring  up  on  freshened  wing,  aAbrosial  gales ! 

The  favoured  good  man  in  his  lonely  walk 

Perceives  them,  and  his  silent  spirit  drinks 

Strange  bliss  which  he  shall  recognize  in  heaven. 

And  such  delights,  such  strange  beatitudes 

Seize  on  my  young  anticipating  heart 

When  that  blest  future  rushes  on  my  view !  * 

For  in  Ms  own  and  in  his  Father's  might 

The  Saviour  comes  !    While  as  the  Thousand  Years 

Lead  up  their  mystic  dance,  the  Desert  shouts  ! 

Old  Ocean  claps  his  hands  ! 

O  years  !  the  blest  preeminence  of  saints  ! 
Ye  sweep  athwart  my  gaze,  so  heavenly  bright, 
The  wings  that  veil  the  adoring  seraph's  eye, 
What  time  they  bend  before  the  Jasper  Throne, 
Reflect  no  lovelier  hues  ! 

Believe  thou,  0  my  soul, 
Life  is  a  vision  shadowy  of  Truth ; 
And  vice,  and  anguish,  and  the  wormy  grave, 
Shapes  of  a  dream !     The  veiling  clouds  retire ; 
And  lo  !  the  throne  of  the  redeeming  God, 
Forth  flashing  unimaginable  day. 


408  PULPIT  ELOCUTION. 

Wraps  in  one  blaze,  earth,  heaven,  and  deepest  hell. 

Contemplant  spirits  !  ye  that  hover  o'er, 

With  untired  gaze,  the  immeasurable  fount 

EbulUent  with  creative  Deity ! 

And  ye  of  plastic  pow^er,  that,  interfused. 

Boll  tlu-ough  the  grosser  and  material  mass 

In  organizing  surge !     Holies  of  God  ! 

I,  haply,  journeying  my  immortal  course, 

Shall  sometime  join  your  mystic  choir.     Till  then 

I  discipline  my  young  and  novice  thought 

In  ministeries  of  heart-stirring  song ; 

And  aye  on  Meditation's  heaven- ward  wing 

Soaring  aloft,  I  breathe  the  empyreal  air 

Of  Love,  omnific,  omnipresent  Love, 

Whose  day-spring  rises  glorious  in  my  soul, 

As  the  great  sun,  when  he  his  influence 

Sheds  on  the  frost-bound  waters  : — The  glad  stream 

Flows  to  the  ray,  and  warbles  as  it  flows. 


END, 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DEC  l^'-  ^^'■- 
DEC  17-4932 

API  28   1 
Am  9    133* 


May 


4  1937 


fife 


Jm    25  1939 


OCT  10  t934 


ftB 


8 


m^^'"^^ 


m  31  ^3^^ 


F^B   8  1942 

I  JuI'49Ww 

JUN  0  6  B97 

>epT. 


•  LD  21-5. 


i 


<^os7'^ll7^^ 


^11  fa 


i- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


